In Another Life VI
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: I just can't stop writing these! XD For those of you who have asked for another installment, here's yet another alternate universe story about the gangster Jack Napier and Harleen Quinzel :-)
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life VI**

Harleen Quinzel awoke to the sound of sirens. There were always sirens in Gotham City, cutting through the night, disturbing the sleep of the innocent. Harley was no stranger to the noise of a big city – she had grown up in Brooklyn, after all. But the sirens here in Gotham always seemed to wake her up. They sounded different. Or she was just on edge living in a new place, and every little sound woke her up.

She rubbed her eyes, going over to the window and seeing the beacon of light and justice, the Batsignal, shining brightly against the clouds. She smiled a little, and felt reassured of her safety. The Batsignal was a literal beacon of hope for the good. For the evil and the wicked and the criminal, it was a reminder of the justice they could never escape facing.

Smiling, Harley climbed back into bed, drifting off to sleep despite the wailing of the police sirens. She awoke some time later to a different sound, a scratching, creaking noise by her window. In the hazy state between dreaming and waking, she thought it must just be a tree branch or something, until she suddenly remembered there was no tree by her window.

Her heart began beating wildly and her body chilled as she suddenly heard the creaking of her window sliding up, and the unmistakable sound of somebody breathing as she heard a figure creep into her room. She tried to control her own breathing, her heart tightening in fear, too terrified to do anything, let alone sit up or look up at whoever had entered her room. All she could hear was the figure's breathing, sounding labored and pained, as it walked carefully around her room. Her fear became uncontrollable when she heard the footsteps heading over to her bed, and in one burst of courage, she rolled over with eyes wide open, as a gloved hand was suddenly clapped over her mouth.

She stared up in horror at the man staring down at her, his face hidden by the darkness, with only his bright, green eyes visible in the glow from the streetlamps that penetrated her curtain. "Don't scream!" he hissed. "I'm gonna take my hand away, and you are not gonna scream, you got that?!"

Harley nodded vigorously. He removed his hand, which did nothing to ease her panic, since his bright, green eyes still studied her carefully. "Is your door locked?" he murmured.

Harley shook her head. "Others in the apartment?" he demanded.

She nodded. "My…roommate," she whispered. "And her boyfriend."

"They asleep?" he demanded.

"I…I think so," she stammered.

"There a back way out of the building?" he asked.

"Through the basement."

He nodded. "Ok. I'll be outta your hair soon. Just stay quiet. Because if you don't, I'll make sure you stay quiet permanently, got it?" he demanded, holding up a gun.

She nodded again. He stood up, wincing in pain and limped toward to the door, then suddenly stumbled, swearing loudly. Harley sat up, noticing the trail of blood coming from his leg. "You're hurt," she whispered.

He laughed. "Thanks, Captain Obvious," he retorted. "It ain't bad – just a little gunshot. I've had worse."

"I'll call an ambulance…" she began, reaching for the phone, but he pointed his gun at her again.

"No," he hissed. "No, no ambulance. You reach for that phone again, and I'm gonna blast your pretty face off, get me?"

She nodded, terrified, and watched him hobble toward the door, swearing under his breath. "You're…not gonna make it down the stairs," she stammered. "Without medical attention."

"You some kinda doctor?" he demanded.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm a psychiatrist. But I went to medical school. At the rate you're losing blood, you won't be able to make it outta this building without losing consciousness."

He glared at her. "Hand me your sheet," he snapped.

She obeyed, and he tore a piece off, wrapping it tightly around his leg. "You need to get the bullet out…" she began.

"I'll do it later!" he snapped. "I don't have time to dilly dally, toots! There's some kinda psycho after me!"

"The person who shot you is following you?" gasped Harley, horrified that they too might enter her apartment at any second.

He snorted. "Nah, I got caught in the crossfire. I'm a lucky guy like that. The guy who's following me don't use guns, everyone knows that. Crazy Bat freak," he muttered.

Harley gaped at him. "Batman is after you?" she whispered, as her terror returned. That meant this man was most definitely a criminal, and probably a very dangerous one.

He nodded curtly. "Think I managed not to leave too bad a blood trail – the suit soaked up most of it," he said. "If he didn't see me come in, I'm in the clear. And if nobody tries calling the police, of course," he added, studying her. "Maybe it'd be safer in the long run to silence you permanently," he said, cocking his gun.

Harley stared down the barrel, breathing heavily, frozen in fear. He pulled it away. "But the shot would wake your roommate and her boyfriend," he murmured. "And I ain't got my knife with me right now. I guess I could always strangle you or something, but that's a lotta effort. And you're right – I'm losing a lotta blood."

He sat down against the wall, clutching his bleeding leg and trying to stem the flow. "You got tweezers in your bathroom?" he demanded.

She managed a nod. "Get 'em and bring 'em back here," he muttered. "And if you think of running or trying to call for help, you won't live to regret it. Got it?"

She nodded again, heading for the door, her whole body shaking. She tiptoed carefully past her roommate's room, but didn't hear a sound, and didn't dare risk waking her up. She entered the bathroom, flicking on the light and rummaging quietly through the cabinet until she found the tweezers. Then she crept carefully back to her room, shutting the door firmly and handing them to him.

"Good girl," he muttered, seizing them. "You say you went to medical school?"

She nodded. "Then you're used to a lotta unpleasant sights. I'll be disappointed if you faint," he said, digging the tweezers into his bleeding leg. He hissed in pain, biting on his hand to keep from crying out and whispering a steady stream of swearwords. Harley watched in horror as he dug around inside his flesh until he pulled out a tiny, metal ball.

"Thank Christ!" he gasped, dropping the tweezers. "Oh, Jesus, no matter how many times you do it, it never gets any easier! Not like killing a guy, huh?" he said, grinning at her.

She didn't know how to respond, and he frowned. "Bet you've never even killed a guy," he muttered.

"Uh…no," stammered Harley.

"You don't know what you're missing!" he chuckled, but it twisted into a grimace of pain.

"You can't make it outta here on your own," murmured Harley. "You're gonna need an ambulance."

"Yeah – let 'em fix me up so they can send me back to the clink, or worse, the electric chair," he muttered. "No thanks, toots. I'd rather bleed to death here."

"I'd…rather you didn't," she said, slowly.

He chuckled. "Yeah…the carpet cleaning'll probably set you back a bit," he said. "Blood don't wash out easily."

His laugh turned into a hiss again, and he shut his eyes tightly, clutching his leg. "Let me see," said Harley, gently. "Please."

He glared at her, but removed his hand, and she studied the wound. "It should heal fairly quickly," she murmured. "But not if you go traipsing all over the city."

"Ain't got a choice, do I?" he demanded, struggling to stand up. He failed, stumbling to the ground again. He lay against the wall, looking up at her. "Well, if this is how it ends, at least I got a pretty last sight," he murmured. "Pretty little doll…big blue eyes…golden hair…almost like an angel…course…won't be seeing any angels where I'm going!" he laughed feebly. "So better enjoy it while it lasts."

His eyes shut and his head fell forward. Harley panicked, feeling his pulse. It was beating regularly. He was still alive, but had lost consciousness.

She stood up slowly. A self-confessed criminal was lying on her floor. A self-confessed wounded criminal. Harley had no doubt she could take care of the wound – it looked worse than it was. But it was a good idea to get him to a hospital. But at the same time, she didn't want to be responsible for sending a man to his death by the electric chair, even if that was what he deserved. Lying on her floor like this, he looked so peaceful. His face was relaxed, and strangely handsome, although the man was clearly a lot older than she was. He looked almost innocent like this, and Harley knew she didn't have the heart to turn him into the authorities. She hadn't asked for a wanted felon to come into her life, but as he had stumbled through her window, she now felt responsible for him.

She went to the window, looking out at the Gotham skyline again. The Batsignal still shone brightly against the clouds. Harley shut the window firmly, and then turned back to the man. She grabbed some pillows and a blanket from her bed and slowly put them over and underneath him, as gently as possible. She didn't even know his name – she just knew he was in trouble, and she needed to help him.

She climbed back into bed, wondering who he could be and what he had done. It seemed kinda crazy to her to keep a criminal hidden in her room – he was clearly a dangerous man who would kill her as soon as look at her. But she didn't see what choice she had. Hand him over to the authorities and to his death, or hide him here. This seemed the lesser of two evils. She only hoped she had made the right choice.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Harley awoke, yawning and stretching, and started when she saw the man lying on her floor. The memory of last night came flooding back suddenly, and she threw on a robe and came over gently to him, checking to see that he was sleeping peacefully.

She heard voices from down the hall – clearly her roommate and her boyfriend were both awake, and she heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

Harley took another look at the man, and then slipped out of her room, locking it behind her. She made her way down the hall, wondering whether she should tell her roommate about him. Obviously she would have reservations about a strange criminal staying in her home, so Harley thought it best to avoid the subject altogether. She entered the kitchen and forced a smile. "Good morning, Pam."

"Harley! Good morning!" said Pamela Isley, turning to smile at her. "Harvey's just making us some breakfast!"

"Hope you like pancakes, but who doesn't?" asked Pamela's boyfriend, Harvey Dent, flipping the pancake and then catching it in the pan.

"Isn't he talented?" cooed Pamela, coming over to wrap her arms around Dent's waist. He kissed her, catching the pancake again.

"Yeah…thanks, Harvey," said Harley, sitting down at the kitchen table. She hoped she didn't look uneasy.

"Sleep well?" asked Dent, serving the stack of pancakes on a plate.

"Er…yeah…fine," stammered Harley.

"Oh, that's not true, Harley," said Pamela, smiling at her. "Nobody sleeps well who sleeps alone."

Harley forced another smile. Pamela was in general a pretty ok roommate, but she had a terrible habit of poking her nose into other people's personal lives. And since she had started her fairytale romance two months ago with Dent, a handsome, rich lawyer, she had insisted on giving everyone else relationship advice. Especially Harley, who she was constantly nagging to go out and find a man. Harley had patiently tried to explain that she wanted to focus on other things right now, but Pamela simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

"But Harvey's got some good news for you on that front," continued Pamela, sitting down next to him and taking his hand. "Tell her, Harvey."

"Yeah, Pam and I were talking about you the other night when we were having dinner with my friend Bruce Wayne," said Dent.

"_The _Bruce Wayne," emphasized Pamela. "The celebrity billionaire."

"Anyway, Pam showed him a picture of you, and he said you were really attractive," continued Dent. "So he said if you ever wanted to go out on a date sometime, give him a call," he said, handing her a slip of paper with a telephone number on it.

"Oh...wow, thanks, but I don't think..." began Harley.

"You don't have to think, Harley, that's the beauty of it!" cried Pamela. "It's a no-brainer! He's rich and handsome! What more could you possibly want in a man? You gotta call him, ok?"

"Ok, Pam," said Harley, knowing that the quickest way to get her to shut up was to just agree with her.

"And don't say I don't do anything nice for you," said Pamela, beaming. "Bruce Wayne, Harley! I tell ya, if I weren't so madly in love with Harvey, I'd take him any day!"

"You trying to make me jealous, baby?" he murmured, kissing her.

"I think every woman in the world should be jealous of me, Mr. Future District Attorney," she murmured.

They began making out, and Harley focused on her breakfast in silence, feeling very uncomfortable. Not that these types of public displays were unusual with Pamela and Dent. They didn't seem to have a very good sense of distinction between public and private actions.

Harley cleared her throat awkwardly at last. "Uh…how is the campaign going, Harvey?" she asked.

"Pretty good," said Dent, breaking away from Pamela and nodding. "It's a long and difficult process, but I think I'm up to the challenge. Pammie's been lending me a hand canvassing too – she has a way of attracting male voters," he added, grinning. "By being stunningly gorgeous."

"Please, Harvey – I like to think I'm loved for my brains as well as my looks," said Pamela.

"Well, _I _sure love 'em both," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again.

Harley stood up, piling some more pancakes on her plate. "I…uh…might just finish eating in my room…got some work to do…uh…see you both later," she said, heading off down the hall. She unlocked the door to her room and stepped inside, and was immediately seized and slammed against the wall, as the door was slammed shut.

"When are the cops getting here?" hissed the man, as he glared into her eyes, his face inches from her as he held his gun to her temple. "How much time have I got?"

"I…I didn't call the police," stammered Harley.

"Who did you call?" he demanded. "The hospital? The Batman? Who did you tell about me?" he demanded, shaking her.

"No one!" she cried. "I swear, I haven't told anyone! The police aren't coming! No one is coming for you!"

He glared at her, but something in her eyes must have convinced him of the truth of her statement, because he gradually released her. "No cops?" he asked, with a note of confusion in his voice. She shook her head. "Why…why not?" he asked.

"Because I don't think prison is the best place for you at the moment," she retorted. "I've worked with inmates in a lot of them, and their medical facilities leave a lot to be desired. You're wounded and you need to rest up."

He stared at her. "And you want me to rest up…here?" he asked, slowly.

She shrugged. "Your leg's still not healed – you're not strong enough to go anywhere else right now," she muttered. "As soon as you are, believe me, I'll be happy to part company."

He winced, sitting down again to take the pressure off his leg. She set down the plate of pancakes in front of him. "I brought you some breakfast."

"Where's the syrup?" he demanded. "Can't have pancakes without syrup."

"Just eat it," she retorted. "I'm not about to go back out there to get it. Wouldn't wanna interrupt them in the middle of things."

He eyed the pancakes distastefully, but gradually began eating one. "You could at least say thank you, Mr…?" asked Harley.

He responded with his mouth full. "Thanks for showing me you're eating, but I didn't catch that," she retorted, sarcastically.

He swallowed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Napier," he snapped. "Jack Napier. You may have heard of me."

"I'm afraid not," she replied.

He stared at her. "You read the papers?" he demanded. "Jack Napier! Gotham's new kingpin of crime! Killed Sal Valestra and took over his criminal empire!"

"I'm not really that interested in reading lurid details about criminals," retorted Harley. "I'm mostly just interested in helping the psychologically disturbed ones."

Jack snorted. "You oughta try analyzing Batman," he muttered. "He's the psycho one."

"Actually, I really admire him," said Harley. "He's done a lot of good for this city."

Jack stared at her. "You crazy, Doc? He's a lunatic! You can't try to fix one type of psycho while admiring another – that don't make any sense!"

Harley smiled grimly. "I think I can recognize a lunatic when I see one, Mr. Napier."

"And I think you're in the wrong career, sweetheart, if you can't see Batman for the nutjob he is," retorted Jack.

"My name is Dr. Quinzel, Mr. Napier," said Harley. "Not sweetheart. You can address me as that if you want to talk to me."

He snorted. "Is that what this is, then?" he muttered. "You're keeping me here so you can analyze me? I'm gonna be some pet project you try to understand in your spare time?"

"I don't want to understand you, Mr. Napier," retorted Harley. "I want you to recover yourself enough to be able to leave my apartment. That's all. That shouldn't take too long, and then hopefully our paths will never cross again."

He glared at her. "What's your name?" he asked.

"I told you, Dr. Quin…"

"I ain't addressing you like you're some goddamn shrink and I'm your patient!" he interrupted. "What's your first name?"

"Harleen," she replied. "But my friends call me Harley."

"Harley suits you better," he agreed, popping another piece of pancake into his mouth. "You come off all tightly wound, but nobody as self-righteous as you pretend to be would ever have taken care of me and not called the cops. I don't understand why you did it, but I owe you one."

"That's very kind, Mr. Napier," said Harley. "But like I said, after you're better, I really don't want to see you again."

"Jack," he corrected. "You can call me Jack. Or J, if you think that suits me better."

He looked around the room. "So I gotta stay in here, huh? It's bigger than my last cell was, so that's ok, I guess."

"I just think it's best that nobody knows you're here, including my roommate," she replied. "You can wander around the apartment as long as she's not here."

"Ain't afraid I'm gonna steal stuff, huh?" he asked.

"Are you a thief?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Have been. I've been pretty much every label you can give a criminal."

"A rapist?" she asked, quietly.

He grinned. "You afraid of falling asleep in the same room as me, sweetheart?" he chuckled. "Well, don't you worry. I ain't that. I've never needed to be. The dames throw themselves at my feet, scores of 'em at a time."

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "The lure of the forbidden, I suppose?"

"Or just my animal magnetism," he added, grinning. "But don't you worry – I'll sleep on the floor."

Harley laughed. "You don't think I'd be stupid enough to offer to let you share my bed?"

"Hey, you're the one keeping a dangerous criminal concealed inside your room!" he said. "That's either stupid or crazy or a mixture of both. Plus any dame that can't see Batman for the fraud he is has gotta have a few screws loose or a few missing braincells."

"You mean you don't think he does heroic things?" asked Harley. "That he fights for justice and right?"

"Can't see how beating people to within an inch of their life is heroic," said Jack. "It would be kinder just to kill them. And he don't fight for anything – he fights because he enjoys the fight. That's why we all do it. We can lie about having ideals, but the truth is, we all just enjoy a little action."

"You're quite the cynic, aren't you?" she asked. "You must be a very unhappy man."

"Unhappy?" he repeated. "Nah, I'm the happiest guy in the world, toots. The unhappy ones are the ones who delude themselves, because sooner or later, they gotta wake up. Me, I woke up a long time ago. And now life's a bowl of cherries," he said, taking out his cigarette case.

"Please don't smoke in my room," said Harley, coldly.

"Aw, c'mon, kid!" he exclaimed. "Why can't you just tell your roommate you took up smoking?"

"Because I don't want my room smelling like smoke!" she retorted.

"I'll do it out the window," he said.

"Good. That way the police and the Batman can spot you," she said.

He grudgingly replaced the cigarette case. "Can tell you don't have an addiction, toots, or you wouldn't be this cruel," he muttered. "Most people have 'em, y'know."

"Not in my experience," said Harley.

"Oh, it don't have to be a drugs and alcohol kinda addiction," he chuckled. "Some people are addicted to food. Money. Sex. Anything that gives the mind even a little relief from reality. Batman's a guy who's addicted to violence. Sorta like me, really," he chuckled.

"I thought you didn't need delusions to cope with reality," said Harley.

"I don't need 'em – I just enjoy 'em," he said, grinning at her.

She stood up. "Look…uh…I gotta go to work soon," she said. "Pam and Harvey usually leave at around the same time. We tend to get back around 5ish, so make sure you're safely back in here before then. If you eat anything, let me know, so I can tell Pam I did it and replace it. I'll pick up some painkillers and stuff for your wound, but if you need anything else, let me know."

"You got booze around here?" he asked. "If you could pick me up some scotch, that'd be great."

Harley glared at him. "Mr. Napier, I'm not going to cater to your every whim. I mean essential things that you might need for your recovery so that you can get out of my hair quicker."

Jack grinned at her. "Nothing more essential than pleasure, toots, that's my motto!" he chuckled. "But fine, just a newspaper will do."

"A newspaper?" repeated Harley.

"Need something to read, don't I?" he asked. "How else am I gonna entertain myself locked in here?"

"I have a lotta books…" said Harley, gesturing to her shelf.

"They all look long," he said. "Probably with a lotta big words. I like things to be snappy and simple, toots. Besides, I wanna see how they publicized the heist last night. Make sure they spelled my name right, y'know."

Harley sighed. "I'll get you a newspaper," she said, grabbing her work clothes out of her closet. She headed to the bathroom to change, and then returned to her room. Jack whistled.

"Wow, you look just like a real shrink!" he said. "And I've seen a hundred of 'em! You're prettier without makeup, though."

Harley frowned at him. "I don't think that's true," she said, glancing at herself in the mirror.

"Yeah, you were gorgeous last night," he said. "When I thought I was dying, and there was this pretty girl with golden hair and sparkling blue eyes standing in front of me, just beautiful and natural and stunning. Maybe it was an illusion of the whole losing consciousness thing, but I swear I'd never seen a prettier gal in my life."

"It was…probably an illusion," agreed Harley, picking up her bag. "Well, enjoy your day, Mr. Napier. I'll see you when I get home."

"Yeah, have fun with the crazies, Doc!" he chuckled. "Glad I ain't one of 'em!"

As Harley headed out of the room, shutting the door behind her, she wished she could be sure he wasn't.


	3. Chapter 3

Harley sat in the break room of Arkham Asylum, reading the newspaper. On the front page was a picture of the man she had concealed in her room, Jack Napier, underneath the headline _Notorious Gangster Missing_. She read the article, feeling her heart sinking with each passing word.

"_Gotham City's mysterious and elusive Batman foiled a raid on the First National Bank last night. Most of the perpetrators are in custody, but the leader of the gang, one Jack Napier, managed to escape and is still at large. Eyewitnesses report that Napier was shot in the leg, and was last seen heading toward the East side of Gotham. Police Commissioner Gordon is warning citizens that Napier is armed and dangerous, and should not be approached at any cost. If sighted, immediately contact the GCPD._"

Her phone rang suddenly, distracting her from her thoughts. "Hello?" she said, answering it.

"Harley, it's Pam!"

"Hi, Pam. What's up?" asked Harley, her heart tightening in fear at the thought that Pamela might have come home early and seen Jack.

"I was just wondering if you'd called Bruce Wayne yet."

That wasn't what Harley had been expecting, and she was partly relieved, and partly annoyed in equal measure. "I'm at work, Pam!" she snapped.

"So? You get breaks, don't you?" demanded Pamela. "You can't wait, Harley! Some other woman might snap him up, a catch like that! This might be the only chance you have to date a billionaire! You don't wanna pass that up, do you?"

"Pam, I've told you, I'm not that interested in dating anyone right now…"

"But this is Bruce Wayne, Harley! Bruce Wayne! That kinda opportunity is never gonna come around again! And I thought you were all about seizing the opportunities life throws at you? Anyway, you only have to go on one date with him – if it doesn't work out, at least you can say you tried."

Harley sighed heavily. "If I go out with him once, will you stop nagging me about it?" she demanded.

"I swear," she agreed. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Of course you know that I'll still nag you for details of your date, but after that, nothing. I promise."

Harley sighed again. "Ok. I'll call him now," she muttered.

"Atta girl!" said Pamela. "It'll be so cool if it works out! We'll be a pair of best friends dating another pair of best friends! It could be a sitcom!"

"Yeah…sure, Pam," said Harley. "I'll see you tonight. Bye."

She hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment, and then removing the piece of paper with the phone number on it from her purse. She was about to dial the number when suddenly an alarm blared through the asylum. An alarm indicating an escaped inmate. A highly dangerous escaped inmate.

Harley raced out the door of the break room and into the hall, and was stunned when she came face to face with Victor Zsasz, holding a struggling guard around the neck with his arm, a knife in his other hand. Before Harley could react, Zsasz slashed the knife across the man's throat, dropping him to the ground. Then, to her horror, he plunged the knife into his flesh, making a deep gash down his arm and crying out in what sounded like pleasure.

He looked up, smiling at her. "Your turn, Doctor," he said, seizing her. "Your turn to be given salvation, and preserved forever, carved into my flesh. You'll be immortalized, remembered whenever someone sees the scar on my body. Would you like to know where yours will be?" he whispered in her ear.

Harley was too terrified to think rationally about her actions – instincts just kicked in. She kneed upward, hitting Zsasz in the groin and making him howl in pain, releasing her. Then she tore off down the hall. Rounding the corner, she ran headlong into someone, the force of the collision knocking her to the ground. She looked up to see Batman standing over her.

"Batman?" she gasped. He didn't respond, striding forward to confront Zsasz.

"You'd better put down that knife before you get hurt," muttered Batman.

Zsasz grinned. "Getting hurt is exactly what I want, Batman. Is there any more ecstatic sensation in the world than pain right after the taking of a life? Beautiful fountains of blood mingled together – his," he said, nodding at the dead guard. "Mine," he said, holding up his arm. "And now yours," he said, raising the knife again.

Batman dodged the blow, punching him in the face. Winded, Zsasz dropped the knife. As he raced to pick it up, Batman threw a Batarang, colliding with the back of Zsasz's head. He fell to the ground with a cry, and Batman was on him in an instant, grabbing his leg and snapping it. Zsasz shrieked, but was suddenly silenced as Batman slammed his skull into the floor, knocking him unconscious.

"Told you you were gonna get hurt," he muttered. He turned to face Harley, who stared at him in awe, still lying on the ground. He held out a hand to help her up. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She managed a nod. "That was…that was…amazing."

"Not really," he muttered. "I was too late to save one life. Nothing amazing about that," he murmured, looking at the guard. "But at least I was able to save yours, Doctor."

"Quinzel," supplied Harley. "Harleen Quinzel."

He looked at her. "I'm glad I got here in time," he murmured.

Then he turned away, lifting up Zsasz's limp body. "I'm just going to return this animal to his cell."

"Uh…ok," stammered Harley. "And thank…thank you. You really are a hero."

He nodded in acknowledgment, and then dragged Zsasz off down the hall.

Harley returned home that evening to find a note from Pamela. _Harvey and I are out to dinner and then staying at his tonight. I want to hear all about your phone call to Bruce Wayne tomorrow!_

Harley sighed – she had completely forgotten about that during the excitement of the day. If excitement was the right word, she reminded herself. She was clearly just lucky, being attacked by two homicidal guys in the space of two days. And speaking of homicidal guys…

She opened the door to her bedroom. "You can come out," she said. "Pam and Harvey are staying at his tonight."

"Finally!" Jack exclaimed, hobbling out of her room, leaning heavily against the wall. "Your roommate came home to change at around four – I've been cooped up in there since then!"

Harley headed down the hall to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and seeing what she had to cook with. "You fine with spaghetti for dinner?" she asked.

"Don't have a choice, do I?" he asked, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"I'll take that as a yes," she muttered, grabbing ingredients out of the fridge, and then going over to boil some water.

"Where's my paper?" he asked.

She sighed. "I left it at work," she snapped. "Sorry I forgot – I had kinda a rough day."

"Yeah? Try being cooped up in someone's bedroom for hours with nothing to do and a wounded leg," retorted Jack.

"Y'know, you really are the most self-centered, ungrateful man in the history of the universe!" snapped Harley. "I could have called the police on you, and if you don't show a little more appreciation for what I'm doing for you in the future, I just might!"

"All right, kid, no need to be so touchy," he sniffed. Harley cooked in silence, trying to keep her temper.

"I actually ran into a friend of yours today at work," she said. "Batman."

He snorted. "They finally committed him, huh?" he chuckled. "About time!"

"No, actually," she snapped. "We had a highly unstable inmate get loose, and attack me. Batman saved my life," she replied. "So I'll thank you not to insult him anymore."

He glared at her. "You…ok?" he asked. "I mean, you didn't get hurt or anything, right?"

"No, I told you, Batman saved me," she said.

"That's kinda who I mean," he said. "Talk about highly unstable."

"I understand he only hurts the criminal element," she snapped. "The kind of people who deserve to be hurt."

"All right, sweetheart, if I deserve to be hurt so much, why doncha just call the cops on me?" demanded Jack. "Or better yet, your hero Batman? I'm sure he'll rough me up real good, and you can call that justice, the way he does."

Harley ignored him. "Why do all the dames like that freak anyway?" he muttered. "Since when did costumes become sexy?"

"I don't like him…in that way," retorted Harley. "I just think I can admire and be grateful for what he's done for me…"

"Yeah, you tell yourself that, sweetheart," he snapped. "But I've been around dames long enough to know they don't admire guys without being attracted to them too."

"You've clearly been around a lotta shallow women," she retorted.

"Is there any other kind?" he asked.

"Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were jealous of Batman," she said, glancing over at him.

"I ain't jealous!" he snapped. "Got the dames throwing themselves at my feet, like I said! And I don't even have to wear a stupid costume to get that kinda action!"

Harley didn't respond, putting down a plate of spaghetti in front of him. She sat down across from him as he put a bite in his mouth, and then made a face, spitting it out. "This tastes like crap!" he exclaimed.

"Just eat it!" she snapped.

"No, seriously, how can you screw up spaghetti, you dumb blonde?!" he demanded.

"I didn't screw up…" she began, taking a bite herself, and then instantly realized what he meant. She had reached for a jar of spaghetti sauce, but had accidentally dumped in curry sauce instead.

"I can't eat this crap," said Jack, shoving the plate away from him. "Why doncha order a pizza or something?"

Harley took her cell phone out of her bag, seriously considering phoning the police instead of the pizza place. But to her surprise, it suddenly rang, with an unrecognized number.

She answered it. "Uh…hello?"

"Hi, is this Harleen Quinzel?" said the male voice on the other end.

"Yeah, speaking," she said.

"Dr. Quinzel, this is Bruce Wayne," he said. "I hope you don't mind me calling – Harvey Dent gave me your number."

"Oh…did he?" she said. "Well…uh…how can I help you, Mr. Wayne?"

He was silent for a moment. "Uh…look…I know this may sound a little awkward, but…Pamela Isley showed me your picture the other night and mentioned you were single and I was kinda wondering if you…uh…would consider going on a date with me."

Harley was too stunned to respond for a moment. "Er…yeah…ok," she stammered at last. "That sounds…yeah…good."

"Great!" he said. "Tomorrow evening? Pick you up around seven? Unless you've got plans."

"Er…no, no plans," she said.

"Ok, great," he repeated. "I'll see you then, Dr. Quinzel."

"Yeah…great…see you tomorrow, Mr. Wayne."

She hung up, still stunned by the phone call, but more by what she had just agreed to do.

"Mr. Wayne?" repeated Jack. "Not rich boy Bruce Wayne, the celebrity billionaire?"

"Yeah…he's a friend of my roommate's boyfriend," stammered Harley.

"And what did he want with you?" asked Jack.

"Erm…to ask me out on a date tomorrow evening," she said.

She saw Jack's eyebrows narrow. "And you said yes?"

She shrugged. "Hey, it's not every day a girl can date a billionaire," she said. "And Pamela's been nagging me to call him anyway – at least this will shut her up."

She saw his glare deepen. "You jealous?" she asked, lightly.

He laughed. "Jealous? That rich boy Bruce Wayne is dating some high-strung, demanding, touchy dame who can't cook? Not on your life, sweetheart."

But his scowl never left his face from when the pizza arrived to when Harley flicked off the light that night as he lay on the floor of her room. She would have been flattered if she had any interest in the guy at all. But she didn't, she reminded herself. She didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke up the next day feeling that something was unusual. She realized what it was the moment she heard a murmur, and felt someone rolling over next to her.

She jumped out of bed instantly to see Jack Napier lying on the other side, still asleep. "Oh my God, what the hell are you doing in my bed?!" she shrieked.

"Not so loud, toots, you'll wake everybody up," he muttered, his eyes still shut. "Including me."

"I should do worse than that!" she shouted. "How dare you do something like this?!"

"Because the floor was hard and uncomfortable," he snapped, opening his eyes to glare at her. "Don't worry – I didn't touch you or anything…"

"I should touch _you_ with a punch to the face!" she shouted. "I can't believe you!"

"What can't you believe, exactly?" he demanded. "That a guy prefers sleeping in a bed to sleeping on the floor?"

"I can't believe that after I take care of you and look after you at great personal risk, you insist on acting like a complete ingrate, disrespecting me and my wishes!" she shouted.

"Oh, you can't believe that, huh?" he demanded, sitting up. "News flash for ya, toots! I ain't a nice guy! I'm a criminal, and a gangster, and frankly I've done a lot worse than sneak into a woman's bed to sleep a bit more comfortably! So just count your blessings instead of carping at me, would ya?"

"_I _should count _my _blessings?" she demanded. "What I should do is hand you over to the police!"

"You won't – you ain't got the guts," he retorted. "You got a guilt complex about sending me to my death, so I know you ain't gonna phone the cops because you could never forgive yourself. You should learn to get rid of that guilt complex, the way I have. Otherwise people are gonna take advantage of it your whole life. This is a good lesson for you," he said, lying back down and shutting his eyes again. "Now beat it – I'm trying to sleep."

Harley stood there shaking with rage for a few minutes, and then grabbed her work clothes and stormed to the bathroom. "At least I might get to deal with a nice guy tonight for a change," she muttered, remembering her date.

She re-entered her room to grab her bag again, glaring at his sleeping form. She rummaged around in her purse for a few moments, seized her compact mirror, and threw it at his head, hitting him squarely in the face.

His eyes snapped open in fury, and before Harley could react, he had seized her around the waist, dragging her down on the bed and climbing on top of her, one hand around her throat and the other raised to hit her. "Don't…you…dare…attack me ever again!" he hissed. "Understand?"

She nodded, gasping for breath as she stared up into his eyes. She was furious and…something else, as she felt his body on top of hers. He had taken off his suit and was wearing only his undershirt and boxers, and his breath was hot and close on her face. She gazed up into his enraged eyes and felt…desire. Both for the pain and pleasure he could give her.

"Let…let go of me," she said, in what she hoped was a firm voice. He lowered his hand slowly and obeyed her, climbing off her and releasing her. She struggled to her feet, glancing back at him.

"I'm…I'm leaving now," she said, standing up and fixing her hair.

"Good riddance," he snapped, rolling over in bed.

She felt tears come to her eyes as she headed for the door. "Hey…sweetheart…I'm sorry," he muttered. She turned around, but his back was still facing her. "I'm sorry for…being such a jerk. I'm just going a little stir crazy cooped up in here. I don't like…cells. Or any kinda small, confined spaces."

"I…guess I can understand that," she stammered. "I appreciate your apology."

"Well, I don't want you to start crying and ruining your makeup," he said, turning over to face her and smiling. "Although it would make you look nicer without it."

She nodded, turning away again. "You're a sweet kid," he said. "And I really appreciate what you're doing for me, honest. I'm just…a little cranky in the mornings."

She nodded again. "Well…thank you, Jack," she murmured.

"You have a good day at work, sweetheart," he said sincerely, turning away from her again.

On the way to work, Harley found her thoughts fixed on an unusual course, no matter how she tried to distract herself from it. She imagined Jack in her bed, saying "Have a good day at work, sweetheart," after they had both been intimate the night before. She kept imagining his body, which she had seen and felt, thin but strong, on top of her today, and her thoughts flew against her will to him on top of her again, thrusting into her while she pulled him in deeper…

She shook her head. What the hell was the matter with her? She thought she was above that bizarre, filthy instinct that attracted women to dangerous men. It was base lust and excitement, and Harley had always looked for more than that in a relationship. And she wasn't about to change now, she vowed.

Work dragged, and she couldn't get rid of her nagging thoughts about Jack. She hoped her date tonight would help with that – at least it was a distraction anyway.

She returned home, and was immediately pounced on by Pamela, who hugged her in a bone-crushing embrace. "Good luck on your date tonight, baby!" she cried. "Bruce told Harvey he had asked you out! I mean, I don't know why you didn't do it yourself, but I'm so glad you're doing it!"

"Yeah…it should be nice, Pam," agreed Harley.

"I want to hear every detail when you get home," she continued. "But I won't wait up, in case the night takes a favorable direction," she added, winking.

"Um…I'm not really the kind of girl who goes home with a guy on the first date," replied Harley, slowly. "Even if he is a billionaire."

"I dunno, Harley – Harvey tells me he's quite the charmer," said Pamela. "You might not be able to resist. Principles can only stand so long against the onslaught of the heart."

"Er…yeah…I guess," agreed Harley, thinking of Jack again. "I'm just gonna go get changed, Pam."

"If you need any advice on the dress or makeup, let me know!" called Pamela after her.

Harley entered her room to see Jack seated on the floor, fully dressed and playing a game of solitaire. "I didn't think I had a pack of cards in here," she commented.

"You didn't, but I take my deck everywhere with me," he replied, not looking up from the game. "Superstition, I guess. The cards are kinda a lucky charm. Plus I can always use it for target practice if I get bored."

He flicked a Joker card out of his sleeve. "If your roommate weren't home, I could show you how I can throw the pack up into the air and shoot the faces off both Jokers before the cards hit the ground."

"You must have very good aim," she said.

He snorted. "Understatement of the century, but yeah, sure. I got good aim."

Harley went over to her closet and began looking for a suitable dress to wear. "Guess I'll have the bed to myself tonight, huh?" he asked, lightly.

Harley sighed. "I just told Pam, and I'll tell you, I don't go home with guys on the first date."

Jack snorted again. "If I were you, I'd get in there quick. Guy with that much money, you gotta hook him fast."

"I'm not going fishing, Jack – I'm going on a date," she snapped. "I don't look at human relationships like some game with a strategy to it. When I'm with a guy, I want to be able to be myself around him, to be open and honest with him, without worrying about how it's gonna look or how he's gonna interpret it."

"Might explain why you're still single," he commented.

"I thought you were going to stop being a jerk to me," she retorted.

"It's not being a jerk to state the fact that you're still single, and suggest a reason as to why that might be," he retorted.

"What about you?" asked Harley. "Do you have someone special in your life? Someone who's worried that you haven't come home by now?"

"I got tons of special dames," he said. "Tons."

"But if you're not committed to them, that makes you single too, doesn't it?" she retorted. "And that's presumably a choice of yours, so if you can respect that about yourself, why can't you respect that about me?"

He shrugged. "Double standard, I guess," he said. "I'm an attractive guy, so I'm kinda meant to play the field. But an attractive dame like you deserves a guy who'll commit to her for life. I choose not to commit to any of the easy floozies, and they don't expect that, which is why they are easy floozies. You, on the other hand, want a guy who you can be yourself around and who'll commit to you no matter what. And so I'm saying that you're still single because your standards are too high. Most guys are shallow and superficial, just like most dolls are. You're looking for a diamond in a pile of coal. Most people would just give up and accept the coal."

"Well, forgive me if I have a little more faith in humanity and relationships than you do," she retorted, pulling out a long, red and black dress. She headed for the bathroom, showered, changed, and did her hair and makeup. Then she returned to the bedroom.

Jack was still playing cards, but looked up at her return and dropped the deck. "Christ!" he gasped. "You look…you look…uh…"

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Harley. "But I thought you liked me better without makeup."

"I do – it's just the whole package with the dress and the hair…" He shook his head. "But you still ain't as pretty as the first night I saw you. Still, I guess you're pretty enough to knock Bruce Wayne's socks off."

"I hear he's dated a lot of women," she replied. "I don't think I'm going to impress him particularly. I don't even know why I'm doing this, really."

"Neither do I," he agreed. "You can do a lot better, y'know."

"Than a celebrity billionaire?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "You just said yourself – you're not going fishing. You're looking for a someone who gets you and respects you, no matter what. Someone you can be yourself around. Hell, maybe we're all looking for that. But Wayne's gonna play the usual dating game tonight – he's gonna use the same moves on you that he's used with every other woman. He's gonna pretend to be fascinated by everything you have to say, he's gonna give you flowers and gifts, and he's gonna use all his charm."

He stood up, taking her by the shoulders. "But I don't think a guy who really cared about you would be charming," he murmured. "He'd be sincere and honest, just like you'd be sincere and honest with him. And maybe sometimes...he'd even be a jerk to you."

Harley didn't know how to respond – his touch set her body on fire. She felt her breathing speed up as she gazed back into his beautiful, green eyes, and she almost involuntarily felt her lips drawing toward his.

"Harley! Bruce is here!" shouted Pamela from the front door, breaking the spell.

"I…I…I have to go," stammered Harley, drawing away from him and seizing her bag. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," he agreed, as she left the room, shutting the door behind her. "I really hope you will."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm so glad you could make it tonight, Harley," said Bruce Wayne, smiling charmingly at her in the back of his limousine as he poured her a glass of champagne. "Pam and Harvey told me so much about you when we went out for dinner the other night. Saying it sparked my interest is an understatement."

"Oh…yeah?" said Harley nervously, taking the glass from him. "Like what, exactly?"

"Well, your picture for a start," he said. "I've seen a lot of attractive women in my time, but I've rarely been struck by one instantly the way I was with you."

Harley smiled. "You'll be disappointed if I don't have a stunning personality to match," she said. "Or is personality not important to you in a woman?"

"You shouldn't believe the stuff you read about me in the tabloids," he said. "I'm a lot more substantial than they make me out to be."

"A man of mystery?" she asked.

"You could say that," he agreed, nodding. "There's certainly a lot more to me than meets the eye."

"That makes two of us, Mr. Wayne," she said, sipping her champagne.

"Oh, it's Bruce, please," he said. "I'm not a formal man."

"Really?" she asked, looking around the limousine.

He grinned. "Just because I like nice things, Dr. Quinzel, doesn't mean that I'm stuffy and uptight. I know how to have fun."

"Harley," she corrected. "So…where are we going?"

"Back to mine," he said. "My butler's prepared a three course dinner."

"Oh," she said. "Right. Back to yours."

"Is that a problem?" he asked.

"No," she said, hastily. "Only I thought maybe our first date would be somewhere a bit more…public."

He took her hand. "I prefer privacy. Much more romantic," he murmured. "I like my dates to have a good time, after all."

She smiled nervously. "Uh…Bruce…I'm not…the kinda girl who…is gonna stay for dessert, if you know what I mean."

He grinned. "Well, I hope you're not talking about the chocolate gateaux, which Alfred slaved over," he said. "But don't worry, Harley. I'm not the kinda guy who pressures girls into anything they might be uncomfortable with. I just prefer to talk to women I'm actually interested in in a quiet, comfortable environment. Plus I'm kinda a celebrity, so I get hounded by photographers whenever I'm seen out with a woman, and I hate to subject my dates to that. I've had to deal with it for years, and it's still uncomfortable."

"Is that why you haven't settled down?" she asked. "You haven't found a woman willing to put up with that?"

"Partly," he agreed. "And partly because I've never found a woman who would be willing to put up with me in the long term. It's true what they say – money can't buy you happiness. A lot of women come for the money, but don't feel like staying for life. No pressure on you, though," he added, grinning.

Harley smiled. "Yeah, my roommate was very keen to set this up," she said. "It's nothing personal, Bruce, but I wasn't that enthusiastic. I have other things to focus on in my life at the moment besides romance."

"You work at Arkham Asylum, don't you?" he asked. "That's gotta be a pretty challenging environment. I can see why you devote a lot of time to your work, and I really think the people in there need it. I admire your commitment very much."

"Well, I work in a lunatic asylum – I gotta be committed!" said Harley, laughing. Bruce looked at her, slightly bewildered. "It's…a joke," she said, slowly. "Maybe not a very good one…uh…committed to work, and you get committed when you get put in an asylum…"

"Oh yeah, I get it now," he said.

"Probably not a very good joke if you gotta explain it," said Harley. "But then I guess I'm not very funny."

"It's probably me who doesn't have a sense of humor, actually," he said, with a grin. "Everyone says so. But my life hasn't exactly been anything to laugh about."

"Uh…yes, I read about…your parents," stammered Harley. "I'm sorry…I imagine that's a difficult thing to recover from."

"Yeah, I don't think you ever really get over something like that," he murmured.

"I bet you've had to deal with people like me for years," said Harley. "I'm surprised you wanted to date a psychiatrist after that, actually," she said, grinning.

"Why? You think I'm afraid you're psycho-analyzing me right now?" laughed Bruce. "I have a very high regard for people in your profession, Harley. They certainly tried their hardest to help me. But in the end, I think recovery is something you have to achieve on your own. So I've found…other ways of coping with the tragedy."

"Like what?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Community service, I guess you'd call it. I volunteer my time to help the people of Gotham recover from crime. Plus I donate to a lot of charities to help less fortunate people – you probably know there's a wing named after me at Arkham. I asked them not to do that, by the way – the last thing I want people to do is see the name Bruce Wayne and think crazy!" he laughed.

"Well, it's certainly not my diagnosis," said Harley, smiling.

They pulled up in front of Wayne Manor, and Bruce helped Harley out of the car. Alfred held the front door open for them, and Harley gazed around wide-eyed at the interior of the mansion.

"Wow, Bruce, this is…beautiful!" she said.

"Alfred keeps the place looking nice," agreed Bruce. "I'm not here as often as I should be to appreciate it – I do a lot of traveling. I usually only see it when I'm hosting benefits."

"You've probably been everywhere," said Harley.

He shrugged. "Yeah. But there's no place like home."

"I've only ever been to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and now Gotham," said Harley. "My folks weren't very rich, so we didn't have the money to travel. But I've always wanted to."

Bruce smiled. "Well, tell me where you want to go, and I'll get tickets for our next date," he said.

"Is that a joke?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I told you – I'm not a joker. Where would you like to see? Paris? Venice? London?"

"I don't think I could accept…I mean…I wouldn't be that comfortable with…uh…going away with a guy I just met. Even if it is to Paris," she said.

He shrugged. "Ok. Maybe later on down the line then, after you get to know me. Assuming you want to get to know me."

"I…do," agreed Harley. "Very much, Bruce."

He led her into the dining room. "Anyway, I hope you like French food, because that's the menu," he said, pulling out her chair for her.

"I don't know that I've ever had any," she replied. "I've never really cultivated expensive tastes."

Bruce smiled at her as Alfred poured the wine. "I really like that about you, Harley," he said. "A lot of the women I deal with, the wealthy socialites, they can be pretty snobbish about everything. It's refreshing to have someone who just genuinely appreciates new experiences."

"I guess it comes from having nothing growing up," she said. "I think it makes you grateful for whatever you get later on in life. Not that I think there's anything wrong in your upbringing…" she added, hastily.

"Well, my wealth came at a very high price," murmured Bruce. "One nobody should ever have to pay. So I don't really take it for granted. In fact, sometimes I really resent it."

There was a shadow that passed over his face when he spoke about his past – Harley thought it was almost like a cloud coming over his eyes, hiding something, like a mask. But then it suddenly disappeared, and the charming playboy was back. Harley wondered which one was the real Bruce.

Alfred served the first course, which was oysters. Harley had never had oysters before, and she stared in bewilderment at the shells in front of her, carefully picking up the knife. "Try to stick the blade between them, and use it like a lever," explained Bruce, noticing her confusion. He demonstrated on his own oyster. Harley nodded, attempting to follow his example. It didn't work out.

Bruce watched her struggling and laughed. "It's hard…" she began.

"I know," he said, cracking one open for her. "I wasn't laughing at you."

He handed the shell to her, indicating that she raise it to her lips and swallow the oyster inside it. She obeyed, and instantly gagged, coughing and reaching for the wine. Bruce laughed again. "They're an acquired taste," he agreed.

"Yeah," gasped Harley. "Sorry, I…"

"No, don't apologize," he interrupted. "I think it's really refreshing, actually. Most people I know don't care for oysters, but they've learned to choke them down. I much prefer your honesty though."

He held out his plate of oysters to Alfred. "Alfred, could you take these away and maybe bring us some salad instead?"

"Thanks, Bruce," she said. "I'm sorry to ruin your menu…"

"Alfred's menu," said Bruce, nodding. "He knows I don't much care for oysters either, but it's what gentlemen are supposed to eat. I'm glad I have you as an excuse to get out of it," he said, smiling at her.

The rest of the dinner was enjoyable for both of them. Afterwards, Bruce suggested that they find a movie to watch. He entered the study and flicked on the TV. The news played while Bruce searched through his movie collection, and Harley's thoughts were suddenly distracted by the words "Jack Napier."

She looked up at the screen, where the newsreader was saying, "Our top story, the notorious gangster Jack Napier is still missing, having eluded authorities after his botched heist on the First National Bank…"

"Uh…hang on a second, Bruce, I just wanna see this," said Harley, as Bruce went to put the movie in.

He looked at the screen, which was showing Jack Napier's mugshot. "Nasty piece of work," he commented.

"Yeah," agreed Harley, slowly. "Sorry, I've just been following this story pretty closely…interested in the criminal, being a psychiatrist and all…"

"You don't have to make excuses to me," he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her. "I have a pretty keen interest in crime myself. Just a hobby of mine."

They were silent, watching the television. "…Commissioner Gordon has told reporters he suspects an accomplice is sheltering Napier, since he insists he wouldn't have been able to get far on his own due to the nature of his wound. The Commissioner suspects an associate is aiding and abetting the criminal, and encourages anyone with any information, or any observers of suspicious activity, to contact the GCPD."

"I wonder where he is," said Bruce.

"Who knows?" said Harley, hoping she sounded unconcerned.

"In other news, Gotham City's mysterious vigilante hero, Batman, has foiled an attempted arms deal at the East Dock. All suspects are presently in custody and will be heading to trial later this month. This is yet another huge blow to the Falcone gang, who has been well known for running an illegal arms racket in Gotham for the past decade. Commissioner Gordon has publicly stated that this city owes a great debt of gratitude to the Batman, whoever he may be."

"I wonder who he is," said Harley.

"Who knows?" repeated Bruce, the shadow clouding over his eyes again.

When the movie was over, Bruce took Harley home. His limousine dropped her off in front of her apartment. "Thank you so much for tonight, Bruce," said Harley, sincerely, as Bruce walked her to the door. "I had a lovely time."

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

"Uh…sure," said Harley. She had had a very pleasant evening, and although she didn't feel any sort of romantic spark toward Bruce, she certainly enjoyed his company. It wouldn't hurt to see him again.

He smiled. "Great," he said. "I'm really looking forward to it, Harley."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight," he said.

The apartment was dark – Pamela had already gone to bed. Harley checked her watch. It was later than she had thought – the movie had obviously lasted longer than it had seemed.

She headed for her room, opening the door and peering inside. Jack was lying on one side of the bed, breathing gently in sleep. She quickly slipped out of her dress and changed into her pajamas, and then climbed in on the other side.

Jack stirred. "How was your date?" he murmured, yawning.

"Nice," she whispered. "He's a nice guy."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Bet he is. He can afford to be."

Harley didn't respond. She wanted to say something, but didn't know what. She pulled the covers up and shut her eyes, whispering, "Goodnight, Jack."

"Night, kid," he murmured. Harley drifted off to sleep shortly after, but Jack remained awake, staring into the darkness and scowling.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Harley heard a frantic knocking on her door. "Harley? Are you awake? How did the date go?"

She instantly sat up, panicked, as she heard her door open. Jack reacted quicker than she did, and dived under the covers. Harley threw the comforter over him as Pamela entered her room.

"Pam, can you please wait for my permission before you come into my room?" Harley demanded.

"Sorry, I'm just excited to hear!" said Pamela. "How did it go last night?"

"It was fine, Pam," retorted Harley. "He's a nice guy. We had dinner and a movie."

Pamela nodded. "And?"

"And then he drove me home," she replied.

"And?" she repeated.

"And what?" asked Harley.

"And are you seeing him again?" she asked.

"Yeah, I said I'd like to," she said, nodding.

Pamela beamed. "I'm so excited for you, honey!" she cried, racing over to hug her. "You deserve a great guy like him! And you make such a cute couple! I'm gonna call Harvey to tell him the good news!" she said, racing out of Harley's room.

Harley breathed a sigh of relief, throwing the cover off Jack. "Sorry…" she said.

Before he could respond, she heard Pamela coming back, and covered him over again. "Yes, Harvey, I just heard all about Harley and her new boyfriend…" said Pamela, passing by the door and waving while on the phone.

"He's not my…" began Harley, but Pamela had already headed into the living room, shutting the door.

Harley sighed, throwing the covers off Jack again. "Sorry," she repeated.

"It's fine," he muttered. "Not your fault."

Harley looked at him. "Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm great!" he snapped. "Just a little irritated at being woken up suddenly and hiding because some pushy broad comes barging into your room!"

They heard Pamela shriek in excitement, and Harley hastily covered him again as they heard her running back down the hall. "Harley!" she shrieked, holding a bouquet of red roses and a box of chocolates. "These just arrived! They're addressed to you!"

"Oh…thanks, Pam," said Harley, taking them from her. There was a card attached, and she read it.

_Dear Harley,_

_Hope the chocolates make up for the oysters. They're easier to eat anyway. Can't wait to see you again._

_Bruce_.

"Oh my God!" cried Pamela. "It's the most romantic thing ever! I'm calling Harvey again!"

She raced out of the room, and Harley stood up, slamming and locking her door. "No respect for my privacy, honestly!" she snapped, tossing the flowers and chocolates on the bed and heading over to the mirror, rubbing her eyes.

"You had oysters?" asked Jack, reading the card.

"Yeah, not that you should be reading messages addressed to other people," snapped Harley.

"Sorry, that wouldn't be a crime, would it?" asked Jack, sarcastically. "Cause I've never committed one of those before. Why did he give you oysters?"

"I dunno – it's something rich people eat, isn't it?" she demanded. "They were disgusting anyway."

"They're also meant to be the kinda food that gets you in the mood," muttered Jack. "Think he was hoping for some action?"

"I don't know!" she snapped. "But he didn't get any! Frankly I don't see how choking down that crap would get you in the mood for anything other than a trip to the bathroom!"

She turned to face him. "Not that it's any of your business, or Pam's business, what happened on my date. It's my own private business, which everyone in this apartment seems to completely disregard!"

He glared at her but said nothing. "How's your leg today?" she asked, coming back over to him.

"All right," he muttered.

"Lemme see," she said, throwing aside the covers and examining it. "It's healing nicely," she said. "You should be able to leave here soon."

"You looking forward to that?" he demanded.

"Yeah. One less nosy busybody outta my hair," she snapped. "And then maybe I can get on with my life."

"What, as Bruce Wayne's girlfriend?" he snapped.

"I'm not his girlfriend!" she retorted.

"Well, you better tell him that so he'll stop sending you flowers and crap!" retorted Jack, throwing the card at her.

She stared at him. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me?" he repeated. "I don't have a right to be angry at my rude awakening, and then getting a buncha gifts from some rich twit flaunted in my face?!"

"Nobody is flaunting anything!" retorted Harley. "You don't see me gushing about him, do you? If this is just you being cranky in the mornings again, I can see why you don't have a permanent girlfriend!"

"Oh yeah, I bet Bruce Wayne is a real charmer in the mornings!" he retorted, struggling out of bed. "Why doncha spend the night with him next time and see?!"

He hobbled over to where he had thrown his suit, pulling it on. Harley didn't want to be around him like this, so without another word, she unlocked her door and went down the hall to the kitchen. Pamela was chatting loudly on the phone to Dent.

"I mean, it's sweet that he's sent her flowers, but you must have mentioned that I don't approve of that. I can't help it, Harvey – I believe plants are living, breathing, feeling things! Nobody calls vegetarians crazy, do they? If people can protest the slaughter of animals, why can't I protest the slaughter of plants? Hang on."

She put her hand over the phone. "Harvey says congrats – he thinks you and Bruce make a great couple."

Harley looked at her, and then went to go make coffee. She was too tired and irritated to argue with her. "We went out on _one_ date – I don't know why everyone thinks we're suddenly getting married," she muttered, slamming her mug down with more force than necessary.

"It's nothing, Harvey – she's just a little grumpy," said Pamela into the phone. "Got up on the wrong side of no one again. I'm sure she could have changed that last night, but she chose not to. Of course I don't mind her having standards, but when it's Bruce Wayne, I think you'd be pretty crazy not to want to spend the night. Well, of course you're the more attractive of the two of you, Harvey. I'd only be going out with the more attractive one."

Harley left her to her babbling, taking her mug in one hand and holding another discreetly underneath her robe. She slipped back into her room where she saw Jack had started up another game of solitaire, glaring at the cards angrily.

"Brought you coffee," she said, putting it down in front of him.

"Needs milk," he muttered. "I like my coffee white."

"Go and get some milk, then," she retorted.

"You know I can't do that," he snapped.

"Actually, I think it'll be good for Pam to see you," said Harley. "And if she phones the police on you, it'll be her responsibility if you get executed, and yours. Not mine."

"If she recognized me," he agreed, nodding.

"Your face is all over the news," retorted Harley. "Bruce and I watched a story about how you were still at large last night. Although I wouldn't be surprised if Pam hasn't seen it – she doesn't watch a lot of TV unless it's a gardening show. I'd still have a hard time explaining the random guy in my room though…"

She had had her hands full with coffee mugs and so hadn't locked the door again. It opened suddenly, and Pamela entered before either of them could react. "Harley, are you…" she began, but froze when she saw Jack.

"Who…who's this?" she stammered. "And how did he get in?"

"This is…this is…this is…Jack," stammered Harley, grabbing his hand suddenly. "My…boyfriend. He stayed the night."

Pamela stared at her in confusion. "But…you and Bruce were…"

"Jack and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now," invented Harley. "Not serious or exclusive or anything. But after I left Bruce's, I picked him up and we came back here."

"You…had a boyfriend, and you didn't tell me?" demanded Pamela. "I'm hurt, Harley! So that's why you were so reluctant to call Bruce! It's so unlike you to play the field like this! Bruce is gonna be really hurt – he's clearly pretty into you! No wonder you got so annoyed talking about your date! You're gonna tell him there's someone else, right, or will me or Harvey have to?"

"No, no, I'll tell him," said Harley, hastily. "The next time I see him."

Pamela glared from her to Jack. "Well, if I were you, Harley, I'd consider my options, and pick the other one," she muttered. "You're not a billionaire, are you, Jack?"

"Er…not yet," said Jack.

"Yeah. Great choice, Harley," said Pamela, sarcastically. She turned away. "Harvey's coming over for dinner tonight – it can be a double date. Impress me, Jack. Prove to me you're better than Bruce Wayne."

"Well, frankly, Pam, I think the only one I gotta prove it to is Harley," retorted Jack. "And I think I have."

Pamela rolled her eyes. "Crazy," she sighed, leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Harley yanked her hand away from him. "This is nuts!" she hissed. "We can't keep up the charade of being a couple over dinner!"

"What else can we do?" he demanded. "I guess you can always break up with me at dinner, but it'd be awkward that I still stayed the night after that, wouldn't it? She ain't recognized me – let's be grateful for small blessings."

"Harvey might," snapped Harley. "He's running for DA. He's very familiar with crime and the criminal element."

"I don't think we got another choice," he snapped. "Unless you wanna smuggle me outta here and drop me off someplace now."

"Where?" she demanded. "Where do you have to go, with the police after you, and you barely able to walk?"

"I don't know," he hissed. "But at least I have the decency to try to distance myself from you so people won't suspect you've been hiding me!"

Harley sighed. "You're right, Jack. I'm sorry," she said, putting her head in her hands. "This is a disaster. I tried to do something nice and it's just blown up in my face."

Jack was silent. "Well, you can always hide this from Bruce, so you can still go out with him after I'm gone…"

"I'm not romantically interested in Bruce Wayne!" she snapped.

"Why…not?" he asked, puzzled. "Pam's right – he's rich, handsome, quite the catch."

Harley said nothing. "He's hiding something," she murmured at last. "I don't know what it is. But I don't want to go out with a guy I have to treat like a patient, interrogating and analyzing him to find out his secrets. I want the guy I'm with to be honest with me from the beginning."

"Good thing you ain't going out with me for real, then!" chuckled Jack. "This whole charade is anything but honest!"

She sighed again. "Hey, cheer up," he said, smiling at her. "At least I can wander around the apartment now, so I can get my own milk for my coffee. And it's only one dinner! What could possibly go wrong?"


	7. Chapter 7

"So what is it you do for a living, Jack?" asked Harvey Dent, as they all sat around the kitchen table that evening.

"I'm in…uh…insurance," said Jack. "Life insurance. Never know when life is gonna bite you in ass…as it were," he said, glancing from Pamela to Dent, both of whom looked at him with barely concealed contempt on their faces. Harley hoped her own concern wasn't apparent on hers as she picked at the roast.

"Just because your face seems kinda familiar," continued Dent.

"I just have one of those faces, Harvey!" chuckled Jack. "Plus I do those insurance commercials on TV, y'know. The hilarious ones where people suffer life-threatening accidents and then can't work again. Gotta make sure they get every penny coming to 'em. It's…no laughing matter, actually," he muttered, lowering his eyes to focus on his plate.

"Is that what happened to your leg?" asked Dent. "I can't help but notice you have a limp."

"Yeah…work accident," said Jack. "That's how I got into the business, actually. Wanted to help others the way they helped me."

"And how did you two meet?" asked Pamela.

They shared a look. "Uh…it's a funny story…" stammered Jack.

"Yeah…we were standing in line…in a coffee shop…and he asked me out," said Harley, slowly.

"That's not a funny story," said Pamela.

"No, I guess not," agreed Harley. "Jack has a strange idea of what he considers to be funny. Weird sense of humor."

"Is that what attracts you to him?" asked Pamela. "Because I'm trying to figure it out."

"Well, it's…uh…a lotta little things," said Harley, slowly. "Uh…y'know…sense of humor and…uh…well, he's a charmer, really."

"Really?" said Pamela. "I don't see it."

The conversation died, for not the first time that night.

"This is great grub, Pam," said Jack, to break the silence. "You sure are a talented cook. Ever thought about teaching Harley?"

Everyone at the table glared at him. "Uh…just a joke," he stammered.

"What are you implying, Jack?" demanded Pamela. "That all women should know how to cook, or they're less of a woman? Where did you get such a backwards attitude toward gender equality?"

"Er…no, I wasn't saying it made her less of a woman," protested Jack. "It was just kinda funny how bad she was at it."

"Because all women should stay in the kitchen," finished Pamela. "Why don't you go back to the 1950s, grandpa?"

There was silence again.

"Is it rude of me to ask how old you are, Jack?" continued Pamela.

"Old enough that I've stopped counting!" he laughed.

Pamela forced a smile. "I see," she murmured.

"Good piece of meat," said Jack, breaking the silence again as he gestured to the roast. "And I like that there ain't a lotta vegetables."

"Pam doesn't tend to eat plants," murmured Harley. "She's like a plant version of a vegetarian."

"They don't have a label for me yet because I'm the only one enlightened enough to see that murdering plants is just as bad if not worse as murdering animals," muttered Pamela. "Or human beings."

"This is a big point of contention between me and Pam," said Dent. "My job is to defend human life, though, so I'm a bit biased."

"Explain to me why all living things shouldn't be equal, Harvey!" snapped Pamela.

"Because that's a crazy idea!" laughed Jack. "Of course all living things ain't equal, anymore than all people are equal! You got your smart and your stupid, your brave and your cowardly, your strong and your weak. And I don't see any reason why I should respect the latter of any one of those things."

"Plants are not weak!" snapped Pamela.

"Then why don't they fight back?" demanded Jack. "That's weakness – being trampled on and cut down, and just taking it. If you're an animal or a human, and if you're strong, you fight back when that happens to you. Plants don't ever fight back."

"Poison Ivy does," retorted Pamela. "Stinging nettles, deadly nightshade, all kinds of plants can hurt and kill humans…"

"Yeah, but we don't eat those," retorted Jack. "Same reason we don't eat lions. Not worth the risk of harming ourselves. They're strong animals and they fight back. We eat the weak – chicken, pigs, cows…plants. So I'm sorry, Pammie, but until your vegetable friends start growing a backbone, I'm gonna continue to devour 'em."

Pamela glared at him. "So just to review the facts, Harley, you've chosen a middle-aged insurance salesman who despises the weak over young, handsome, sensitive billionaire Bruce Wayne."

"That's right," said Harley, cheerfully. "And it really doesn't have to make sense to you, Pam. I've made my choice, and I'm happy with it."

"But Harley, I wish you could just take a look at the bigger picture…" began Pamela.

"You can't help who you fall in love with, Pam," interrupted Harley. "And I'm really glad that for you, it was everything you always looked for in a man: young, handsome, good job, money, success. But I'm not necessarily looking for the same things as you. I'm not looking for a celebrity because I don't wanna be in the public eye all the time. I'm not looking for a rich guy who'll drag me to all kinds of boring society functions. Jack and I have a lot more in common than me and Bruce do. We've both come from poorer backgrounds. I think we've both had a pretty difficult life, where we've had to work hard and take risks for everything we've got today. We've both had to deal with some pretty unpleasant situations and people through our respective careers. He's never been anything but open and honest with me. And…he told me once…when I had just woken up…that I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. When I just looked my worst. And…saying that meant a lot more to me than Bruce's flowers and chocolates. It was just sweet and sincere and…it made me happy to be me. And that's what I'm looking for in a man. A guy who makes me happy to be me. Like Jack does."

She smiled at him. He stared at her for a moment, and then to her surprise, suddenly leaned forward and kissed her.

Harley thought her instinctive reaction should have been to slap him away. But it wasn't. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, feeling a warm, tingling happiness creeping through her body.

"All right, get a room," muttered Dent, breaking in on the moment.

"Yeah, you don't see Harvey and me making out in front of you, do you?" demanded Pamela.

"N…no…sorry, Pam," murmured Harley, slowly recovering from the kiss as she stared at Jack. She cleared her throat. "Uh…I just got…a sudden headache. Uh…excuse me," she said, standing up suddenly and heading for her room.

She shut the door, sitting down slowly on the bed and trying to process what had just happened. Jack had kissed her. It might have been just some ploy of his to make their couple act more convincing, but…it hadn't felt like it. Harley had felt sincerity behind that kiss, true feeling. And she was surprised at herself for feeling happy about that.

After all, this man was a wanted criminal. Despite what she had said to Pamela, she didn't truly believe him to be good boyfriend material. Did she?

But what she had said to Pamela was true. You can't help who you fall in love with. And Harley had a sneaking suspicion that maybe her feelings to Jack were more than healthy, more than partial…

Her door opened suddenly. "Sorry to barge in, but it was pretty unfriendly out there without you," said Jack, entering the room and smiling at her as he shut the door.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, quietly.

He shrugged. "Something couples do, ain't it? Thought it would make the whole thing seem more realistic."

"And that's all?" she asked, studying him closely.

He shrugged again. "Yeah…sure," he said. "Why else would I do it?"

"I don't…know," she murmured, glancing down at the floor.

"Anyway, I think the whole thing went off pretty well," he said. "At least I wasn't recognized. They bought it, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "That's good. And you don't have to sneak around anymore, or confine yourself to my room, so that's good too."

"I can even sleep on the couch if you wanna tell 'em we got into a fight!" laughed Jack.

She looked up at him again. "No," she murmured. "No, you can sleep here still…if you want to."

He smiled at her. "I do want to," he murmured.

She nodded. "Uh…look, my headache's still bothering me, so I'll probably head to bed. You don't have to…"

"What else am I gonna do, kid?" he laughed. "Go back out and chat with Pam and Harvey?"

Harley nodded again, heading for the bathroom to get changed. She returned to her room and climbed into bed, where Jack already lay on his side.

"Jack?" she whispered.

"Uh huh?" he asked.

She wanted to say something, but didn't know what. "Goodnight," she whispered at last, shutting her eyes.

"Night, Harley," he murmured. They didn't say another word to each other, but both of them lay wide awake and staring at the wall for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Harley got up the next morning and headed to the kitchen to find a note from Pamela. _Staying over at Harvey's – he had some work to do before bed. See you soon._

"Well, it doesn't sound any more passive aggressive than her notes usually do," muttered Harley to herself as she headed for the coffee machine.

There was a knock on the front door and she went to answer it. "Bruce!" she stammered, shocked, to see Bruce Wayne standing in the doorway, giving her his usual charming grin.

"Good morning, Harley – just stopped by to check if you had any plans today," he said.

"You…could have called," she stammered as she pulled her robe over her pajamas.

He laughed. "I guess I could have, but I really wanted to see you again," he murmured, smiling at her. "And I thought if you weren't busy, maybe I could take you out for brunch."

"Oh…brunch," repeated Harley. "Yeah, uh, well…I actually really need to talk to you about something, Bruce…"

"How about over brunch?" he suggested.

"Uh…I guess that would be…fine," stammered Harley. "I'll just…uh…get dressed…come in," she said, gesturing him inside.

"This is a lovely apartment," said Bruce.

"Yeah, well…it's no Wayne Manor," she said, smiling at him.

"Believe me, Harley, if I had the choice, I'd rather spend time here," said Bruce, grinning. "For a couple of reasons."

Harley forced a smile in response, heading back to her room. "Morning, kid," murmured Jack, sitting up in bed as the door opened.

"Morning," she murmured. "Uh…are you gonna be ok here on your own again? Only Bruce Wayne's showed up and he wants to take me to brunch. I'm gonna tell him I'm not interested in him there."

"Oh…ok," he said. "What's brunch?"

"Some kinda rich person thing," sighed Harley. "It's like a mixture of breakfast and lunch."

Jack made a face. "What, you mean like a pancake sandwich? That sounds terrible to me."

"I don't think they serve that," said Harley, grinning.

"How else are you gonna mix breakfast and lunch?" asked Jack.

"I'd invite you to come along and see, but that might be awkward," said Harley, grinning. "Especially since we saw your face on TV together the other night."

He laughed. "He'd never take me alive. I'd beat the crap outta him before he could tell anyone. Rich boy probably hasn't fought a day in his life."

"Thanks, but the last thing I want is for two guys to fight over me," she retorted.

"You don't think you're worth fighting for?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't think I've ever thought about it. I just don't believe in violence as a solution for solving problems."

He laughed. "Oh, that's a good joke, kiddo!"

"I…wasn't joking," said Harley, puzzled.

"Sure you were!" he chuckled. "What other solution is there to a problem besides violence?"

"Well, rational discussion…" began Harley.

"What, about a completely irrational emotion?" he chuckled. "That's like trying to chop down a tree with a rubber chicken. You're not gonna get anywhere. If two people are fighting over a girl they like, violence is the only solution. The other guy ain't gonna give up without a fight."

"Well, I hope Bruce will if I ask him nicely to," retorted Harley. "I hope any gentleman would respect my wishes like that."

"Yeah…I'll hope so too, sweetheart," he said, nodding. "For your sake."

"I mean, you would, wouldn't you?" asked Harley. "If you were interested in me romantically, which of course you aren't," she added, hastily. "But hypothetically…you'd give up if I asked you to, right?"

He looked at her, and then shook his head slowly. "Nah," he muttered. "That probably ain't very respectful or gentlemanly or whatever, but…if I thought I had a chance in hell of earning your love…I'd kill every other guy in the world before I gave up."

Harley stared at the sincerity in his eyes, her heart pounding. "If…if you were romantically interested in me, of course," she stammered.

"Yeah…of course," he agreed. "If…if I was...y'know…that."

She smiled and headed for the bathroom to change. She returned to her room to fix her hair and then said, "Well…off to break a guy's heart. Wish me luck."

"Harley?" he said, catching her arm before she left.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Uh…good luck," he stammered, releasing her suddenly.

She smiled at him and left her room, shutting the door behind her.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Bruce over brunch. Harley had been thinking about Jack, and what a crazy thing it was for him to say. Almost psychopathic – the idea that he would kill everyone else for her. It was ridiculous of her to think it was romantic. But she did, and that was bothering her. But her thoughts snapped back to reality at the question.

"Oh, just…y'know. Life, the future," she said, shrugging.

"Does the future include me in some way?" he asked, smiling. "I certainly hope so."

Harley cleared her throat. It was now or never. "Uh…yeah, Bruce, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Uh…you're a great guy, and any woman would be lucky to have you. But in my case, I'm just…not interested in you as a boyfriend. I hope you understand."

He stared at her in a way that suggested he might not actually understand. "Is there…someone else?" he asked, slowly.

"No," said Harley, hastily. "No, no one else. I just…y'know…have other things to focus on besides dating, like I said. But it was great spending time with you, and I hope we can stay in touch and be friends."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah…I was actually going to ask you to the charity benefit I'm hosting tonight…but I guess I'm gonna have to find another date on short notice. Unless you'd consider going, of course."

"Well…I guess it is kinda short notice for you to find another date," agreed Harley. "I'd go as your friend, if you want."

"I guess that'll have to do, if you're sure you don't want to be more than that," agreed Bruce, forcing a smile. "I can't deny that it's a big disappointment to me, Harley. I thought we had a really good connection."

"I think we do," agreed Harley. "Just not…y'know…a romantic connection. At least not on my side. There's no…spark. I'm sorry, Bruce."

He nodded. "I appreciate your honesty. But to be honest with you in return, this has never happened to me before," he added, grinning. "Usually I'm the one doing the dumping."

"Guess it's good for you to know how it feels," said Harley. "I'm sorry – I didn't meant that to sound snide…"

"No, I know what you meant," he agreed.

Things weren't made less awkward as brunch progressed. By the time it was over and Bruce drove Harley back to her apartment, she really regretted agreeing to go to the benefit that evening. But it was only this final evening, she reminded herself, and then she'd be through with Bruce forever. She was sure a couple more hours wouldn't kill her.


	9. Chapter 9

"I thought you dumped this guy," said Jack as he watched Harley put on her makeup in front of her bedroom mirror.

"I did," retorted Harley. "I'm going to this as his friend. It would be awkward for him, hosting this thing without a date."

"So are you his friend or his date?" demanded Jack.

"Can't I be both?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. You ain't got a romantic interest in a friend. You do in a date. I think this is some last, desperate attempt for him to try to woo you."

"Well, I'm sure I can resist his advances," said Harley. "He's not that charming."

"All I'm worried about is if he tries something," said Jack. "You're gonna be in his house, after all, and he knows it's now or never with you…"

"I doubt Bruce Wayne is going to assault me at a benefit he's hosting," interrupted Harley. "It'd be bad publicity, for one. And for another, I don't think he's that kinda guy."

Jack shrugged. "I think he's the kinda guy who's used to getting what he wants. I'm sure that includes women. So he's probably not the kinda guy who takes no for an answer."

"He's not a bad guy, Jack," she said. "I won't let you insinuate something like that about him. He's just not my type."

"So bad guys are your type?" he asked, grinning.

She grinned back. "I didn't say that, did I?" she retorted, standing up. "How do I look?" she asked, turning to face him.

He shrugged again. "Fine. You'd look prettier without your makeup."

"Yeah, so you've said," she sighed.

"It's true," he retorted. "Can't help being honest with you, toots."

She smiled. "Well, thank you," she said. "How's your leg?"

"Healing fine," he said. "Don't worry – I'll be outta your hair soon."

She nodded. "I'll miss you," she said, sincerely.

"Hey, if I weren't a wanted felon, I'd keep in touch!" he chuckled. "But I wouldn't wanna connect you to me in any way if I got arrested again. I don't think you'd like prison."

"And you say you're not a gentleman," she said, smiling, as she grabbed her bag. "I'll see you tonight, Jack."

"You be careful," he said. "I don't trust high society folk. They're all crooks and criminals."

"I'm sure they'd say the same thing about you," she replied.

"Yeah, but at least I have the decency to admit my crimes," he retorted. "I don't pretend to be above the law. They do. And they ain't ever been locked up for it."

Harley looked at him and headed for the door. "You look beautiful," he said as she opened it to leave. "Really beautiful. I feel bad for Bruce Wayne, and I never thought I'd say that. Getting to spend the evening with you and knowing there's no hope for him. Could drive a guy crazy."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Jack," she murmured. "Have a good evening."

"You too, sweetheart," he murmured.

She shut the door, feeling butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to admit it to herself, let alone to him, but she knew her feelings for Jack were growing deeper. It was better that he left as soon as possible, so things could return to the way they were, she told herself. After all, what sort of future could she have with a wanted criminal?

"Harley, you look beautiful," said Bruce Wayne, as she entered the ballroom of Wayne Manor. He kissed her cheek gently. "Thank you so much for coming. I wouldn't want my friends to think I'd been jilted, even if I have," he added with a grin.

"Well, I'm sure a man as handsome and sweet as yourself, Bruce, is gonna be able to find a new girl no problem," said Harley.

He nodded. "Well, let me introduce you to some of the guests…" he began.

"Harley?" said a familiar voice. Harley turned to see Pamela and Dent approaching them. "What are you doing here?" asked Pamela.

"Bruce invited me," said Harley. "As a friend," she added, hastily. "I've told him that…I'm not interested in a relationship right now."

Pamela glared at her. "Well, that's not quite true, is it?" she snapped. "It's more that you're not interested in a relationship with _him_, isn't it?"

"Pam…" hissed Harley.

"I think Bruce deserves the truth, Harley," interrupted Pamela.

"What truth?" asked Bruce, puzzled.

Harley glared at Pamela. "The truth…Bruce…is that I'm actually…seeing someone else," said Harley, slowly.

"Oh," he said, surprised.

"She's made the wrong choice," said Pamela. "I told her that, but she doesn't listen. This guy Jack is nothing compared to you. He's old, not rich, and a rude, unpleasant, disgusting excuse for a man. I think she's lost her mind, personally."

"Yes, well, it's none of your business, Pam," snapped Harley. "Or Bruce's, really. My relationship with Jack is my business, and mine alone. Excuse me," she said, heading over to the bar.

Bruce joined her a few moments later, taking a drink for himself. "You could have told me there was someone else," he murmured. "I wouldn't have been offended, really. Why did you keep it from me?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But I did tell you the truth. I don't feel anything toward you in a romantic sense, Bruce."

"But you do toward this Jack?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I do."

"He's a lucky guy," he said. "What's he got that I haven't?"

"I…don't know," she stammered. "I don't know what it is about him…I just…I…feel so happy around him. I think about him all the time…I…miss him when he's not with me. Believe me, I know it doesn't make a lot of objective sense, and I certainly didn't intend for it to happen when I first met him. But I'm…I'm in love with him."

She realized the truth of her statement the moment she said it. "I'm in love with him," she repeated.

Bruce studied her. "Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?" he murmured.

She shook her head. "I don't…think so…"

Before she realized what was happening, he seized her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Harley was too stunned to react for a moment, but then she shoved him away gently. "Bruce, no…" she murmured.

"I can't help it," he whispered. "I can't just surrender you to some other guy…"

"I hope you'll respect my wishes," she interrupted. "If you care about me at all."

"Care about you?" he repeated. "Harley, whatever spark you claim you haven't felt for me, I have felt for you. You're so different to any other woman I've ever met, and you can't expect me to just give up…"

"You _have_ to give up," she retorted, firmly. "I love Jack."

"I'm sure I can change your mind or your heart or whatever," he said. "If you'll just give me a chance…"

"I've made my decision, Bruce," she whispered. "I'm sorry…"

He seized her and kissed her again, and Harley raised a hand and slapped him hard across the face. He released her, stunned, as the whole room fell silent, all eyes suddenly fixed on them. "I'm leaving now, Bruce," she hissed. "And I don't want to see you ever again. Goodbye."

She stormed from the room to the shocked stares of the onlookers, holding back tears of fury and frustration.

"Bruce, are you ok?" asked Dent, approaching him gently.

He nodded slowly. "I'm sure…I will be, Harvey," he murmured.

Dent was silent for a moment. "Y'know this guy Jack," he murmured. "I met him the other night, and…something don't feel right about him. I swear I recognized his face in connection with something criminal, but I'm not sure what exactly. I told Pam, I'm…afraid he might be playing Harley for a fool. I don't think she knows who she's gotten herself involved with. She's way over her head without realizing it."

"You think…he's a criminal?" asked Bruce, slowly.

"I've got a really strong hunch," said Dent, nodding. "Been dealing with those kinds of people my whole life. I'd bet a small fortune on it." He felt around in his pocket. "But all I got on me at the moment is this quarter," he said, holding up the coin. "But you take my word for it, that Jack guy is no good."

Bruce nodded again. "Excuse me for a moment, Harvey," he murmured, heading out of the ballroom. He walked down the hall to the library, reaching a large grandfather clock and pressing the symbol of a bat at the top of its face. The clock swung wide, revealing stairs, and Bruce followed these down into darkness.

…

Harley had returned home to darkness. She opened the door to her room to see Jack sleeping on his side of the bed. She lay down on her side, fully dressed, letting silent tears trickle down her face as she faced the wall. She was unable to hold back a sob, and she heard Jack stir next to her. "Harley?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I woke you."

He rolled over to face her, turning her toward him. "You been crying," he murmured.

"Yeah, it's just…I had kinda a rough evening," she said.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep."

He watched the tears trail down her cheeks until she turned away from him. And then she was shocked to feel his arms wrapping around her waist and holding her tightly.

They didn't speak. They didn't move. They just lay there together as the minutes ticked by. At last, Jack released her, but she rolled over and seized him. "Hold me," she whispered, gazing at him pleadingly with tears trailing down her cheeks. "Please hold me."

He obeyed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close again. Harley felt the beating of his heart as she stared up into his beautiful green eyes, their faces inches apart and their breath close.

He brought a hand up to her face, gently wiping away her tears and the eye makeup that followed them down. "That's it, sweetheart, wash it all off," he whispered. "Wash off all that paint and shadow that hides away the real, beautiful Harley."

She managed a small smile, raising a hand and wiping away her lipstick. "Gorgeous," he breathed. "Jesus, you're gorgeous."

His lips drew closer to hers, and she parted her mouth, tilting her chin up and shutting her eyes. She felt his kiss, warm and gentle and tender, and she let out a little moan of happiness, drawing him closer.

She felt his hands traveling along her body, gently caressing her, exploring her, and she encouraged him to explore with noises of approval, kissing him harder. He had begun trailing his fingers up her skirt when he drew away suddenly. "I'm sorry, I…you're just too beautiful to resist. I need to go, before…" he said, attempting to sit up. She pulled him back down.

"I want this," she whispered, raising a hand to his face. "I want all of this."

She brought his hands back down to her body. "I want you," she whispered. "My date went badly because I wanted you. Because I can't stop thinking about you. I don't care who you are or what you've done, Jack. I love you."

He looked down at her. "Yeah?" he asked. "Cause I kinda think…I might love you too."

She smiled up at him as he reached up to pull her dress off her shoulders. He slowly slid it down, her body shaking in nervousness. He bent down to kiss her gently, his lips trailing down her face and neck. "God, I picked the right window to climb in," he murmured, grinning at her.

She giggled, pressing kisses on his face as she pulled him down into her arms.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded afterwards, opening her eyes as she lay naked in his arms to see him reaching for a cigarette. "I said no smoking in my room!"

"Aw, c'mon, kid!" he protested. "At least let me have a post-coital smoke!"

"Why? Haven't you had enough relief from reality?" she murmured, kissing him.

"That felt pretty real to me, toots," he murmured. "Although if I didn't know better, I'd say I was dreaming," he whispered, kissing her gently.

She grinned. "For a convicted criminal, you're a very charming man, Mr. Napier," she murmured.

"I do my best," he replied, grinning.

She snuggled against him, shutting her eyes and listening to his heart beat. She suddenly felt him tense up. "Jack?" she said, looking up at him. "What…"

He clapped a hand over her mouth, his eyes fixed on the window. "Don't move," he whispered, his free hand sliding under his pillow and pulling out his gun.

He raised it, firing suddenly through the glass. It shattered, and a spatter of blood hit the window as Harley heard a voice hiss in pain. Jack leapt to his feet, racing to the window and staring out into the darkness with narrowed eyes.

"Jack, what is it?" said Harley, throwing on a robe and hurrying over to him.

"I hit him," he murmured. "But not fatally. The bastard managed to fly off."

"Who, Jack?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "Batman," he murmured.


	10. Chapter 10

She stared at him. "Batman?" she repeated. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Got a good look at him. Just like I'm sure he did at me."

He stormed over to where he had thrown his clothes, dressing hurriedly. "I gotta get outta here," he muttered.

"And go where?" asked Harley.

"I dunno," he retorted. "But if Batman knows I'm here, I can't stay."

"Then I'll come with you," she said, reaching for her own clothes.

"No!" he said, firmly, seizing her in his arms. "I don't want to put you in danger…"

"It's a little late for that, if Batman's seen me with you," she interrupted. "He's gonna know I'm connected to you in some way, and since he kinda saw us naked in bed together, I'm sure he can figure out what way that is. How long do you think it's gonna be before I'm hauled off to the nearest police station and interrogated?"

"You could tell them I forced you," he muttered. "That you're an innocent victim…"

"I don't want to be a victim, Jack," she interrupted. "I want to help you. I want to be…your partner."

He grinned. "Partner, eh?" he asked. "If you mean partner in crime, I think it's kinda a one-sided relationship. You're gonna need a lotta training…"

"I mean partner in every sense of that word," she said, smiling at him.

He shook his head. "Harley, you've done enough for me. I can't ask you to give up your job, everything you've worked for…"

"I think it's kinda too late for that, Jack," she murmured. "Batman's made any other choice impossible, aside from giving you up. And I'm not gonna do that. No matter what else happens, I'm staying with you," she said sincerely, gazing up at him.

He smiled. "How did I get to be so lucky?" he murmured, kissing her. "All right, pack a bag," he said, releasing her and finishing dressing. "We'll get outta here and head to one of my hideouts, that hopefully Batman doesn't know about."

"You're right, Jack, he's clearly a bit of a nutcase," said Harley, gathering her clothes. "Not to mention a pervert."

"Ya got that right, toots," he agreed.

"How did he know you were here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Probably followed some kinda invisible blood trail that only he could track or something. He's known as the World's Greatest Detective, you know."

"Yeah, but why did it take him so long?" asked Harley. "You think if there was a blood trail, he would have followed it while it was still fresh?"

Jack shrugged again. "Who knows how his mind works? Crazy, y'know."

"Well, I'm a psychiatrist, and I can't figure him out," she retorted. "So he must be a little more than crazy."

"What about me?" he asked, seizing her in his arms again and nuzzling her neck. "You can tell I'm a little more than crazy about you, right?"

"Mmm, I'm getting that impression," she murmured, kissing him. "C'mon, let's take my car."

"Where are we going?" she asked, as Jack directed her driving.

"There's this disused chemical factory just outside of town, a little place called Ace Chemicals," he said. "It's abandoned, but all the vats and chemicals and stuff are still there."

"That doesn't sound like a great place to hang out," said Harley. "What with the fumes and all…"

"Yeah, it keeps people away though," he agreed. "And it's fine if you stay in the manager's office – it's pretty isolated away from the rest of the factory. I don't think even Batman will check there. We lie low there for a couple of weeks, at least until I'm fully healed, then we work on rebuilding the gang, and retaking the ground I've lost as a criminal by being absent."

"Do you really think I'll make a good criminal?" asked Harley, nervously. "I mean, I've never really done anything illegal before…"

"I think you're gonna be a natural," he said, kissing her cheek. "You've got the potential to be a very bad girl, from what I can tell."

Harley smiled at him. The stoplight in front of her changed to red, but she sped up, racing through anyway. "How's that for bad, Jack?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Not bad for a beginner, kiddo!" he laughed. "You've got lotsa potential!"

Jack opened the door to the chemical factory and led Harley past the bubbling vats, climbing up the stairs to the platform suspended above them. A sickly green glow pervaded the entire huge, shadowy room. It gave Harley the creeps.

Jack pushed open the door to the manager's office and shut out the green light. "Not too bad, huh?" he said, gesturing around at the moth-eaten bed and decaying furniture.

Harley looked at him. "You expect me to stay _here_ for a couple weeks?"

"Well, it ain't the Ritz," he agreed. "But with you here, it seems like home."

She grinned, kissing him. "You're sweet, Jack," she whispered. "You might even be worth staying in this dingy rat trap for."

He sat down on the bed, hissing as he adjusted his leg. Harley helped him raise it up on the mattress, reaching into her bag for some bandages. "The pain means it's healing," she said.

"Must be healing real good," he muttered. "Can't hate it, though. It's what brought me to you, after all."

"Mmm, what a romantic story," she murmured, grinning. "Gangster gets shot and climbs through my window and ends up winning my heart."

"Yeah, was it my beautiful wound, or my impressive criminal record that made you think I was quite the catch?" he asked, smiling back.

"Both," she agreed, dressing his wound. "I thought it's not every day that a guy like that just climbs into my room. Might as well dump the billionaire and run off with him to a filthy hideout instead."

"It does sound kinda crazy, huh?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she agreed. "But I guess love is kinda meant to be. That's why I trust it."

She kissed him again. "Now how about I try to make you feel better?" she whispered, grinning.

He chuckled as she climbed on top of him. "Oh, kiddo, I like the sound of that," he whispered, pulling her down into his arms.

…

"Master Bruce!" exclaimed Alfred, as Batman climbed out of the Batmobile, clutching his shoulder. Blood coated his hand, dripping down the bat symbol on his chest.

"It's fine, Alfred," he muttered. "Just a scratch. The armor stopped the bullet from penetrating."

"How did this happen, sir?" asked Alfred, hurrying to fetch some bandages. Batman sat down, taking off his mask to reveal the face of Bruce Wayne.

"I…went to go check on Harley," he muttered. "Harvey told me that she's seeing another guy…some criminal, he thinks, only she doesn't know it. And when I got to her apartment, I found her…"

He trailed off, shutting his eyes. "I found her…in bed with Jack Napier," he muttered.

"Jack Napier?" repeated Alfred. "The gangster who escaped during that bank robbery you stopped?"

"Yeah," muttered Bruce. "He was shot, but he must have…he must have hidden that or…lied or…pretended to be a victim to play on her sympathies. I…I don't know how he found Harley, or deceived her, but he's…obviously pulled the wool over her eyes completely. Criminals are cunning like that. There's no other explanation for why an incredible woman like Harley would sleep with…a guy like that."

Alfred said nothing, tending to his wound. "I have to save her, Alfred," he muttered. "She doesn't know who she's dealing with, a monster like Napier. He's the one who shot me – he's obviously going to make up some lie to tell her – that I'm persecuting him or something, and that he has to leave and go into hiding. He might try to convince her to come with him, or kidnap her, and she won't know until it's too late…"

He shut his eyes again. "I don't want to see her dead," he muttered. "I've lost too many people I care about to crime in Gotham already." He looked up at Alfred. "I swear I won't rest until Harley is safe from Jack Napier," he murmured. "However it takes."


	11. Chapter 11

"Mmm…Jack, it's a bad idea to smoke in a chemical factory," muttered Harley. She had dozed off in his arms, but woke to the smell of smoke and opened her eyes to see him smoking in bed, one arm wrapped around her waist.

"This ain't your room no more, kid – you can't tell me what to do!" he chuckled.

"It's _our _room," she retorted. "I have to share it with you, and I don't want it set on fire. There might be flammable stuff floating around in the air…"

"I think you just like controlling my fun," he interrupted, smiling at her.

"I'm trying to be practical," she retorted.

"That's what I mean," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "You're thinking too much. Learn to turn the brain off and have a little fun, kiddo – you'll live longer."

"Not with you smoking in a chemical factory, I won't," she said, taking the cigarette and putting it out.

He shook his head. "Boy, I must really love you," he murmured, tilting her chin up. "Nobody else has stolen a cigarette from me and lived."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're Mr. Big, Scary Gangster who's killed more people than I've had patients," she said, kissing him and grinning.

"And don't you forget it," he retorted, kissing her. He stood up. "C'mon, we'd better get you practicing."

"Practicing for what?" she asked.

"To be a criminal, of course," he said. "I can teach you how to fire a gun…"

"Again, maybe not the best idea in a chemical factory," said Harley. "And I don't think we should be firing off random weapons outside, or it might attract attention…"

"I think you just wanna laze around in bed all day," he chuckled, bending down to kiss her.

"Can you blame me?" she asked, grinning.

He shook his head. "I don't accept lazy people in my gang, no matter how hot they are," he said.

"Fine, then I won't join your gang," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll just leave you and go back home."

"You wouldn't dare," he said.

"You wanna risk it?" she asked, grinning.

He sighed. "Fine," he muttered, climbing back into bed and holding her again. "We'll just lie here all day then."

"I thought Mr. Big, Scary Gangster would put up more of a fight than that," she giggled.

"No point," he said, shaking his head again. "One of the things you learn as a criminal is to always weigh the risks, the odds of getting your reward versus the odds of getting caught. And frankly you're more than I'm willing to risk," he murmured, kissing her.

Harley smiled, snuggling against him. "I love you so much," she murmured. "I know…it won't be easy for us sometimes…on the run from the law and the Batman and everything…but…I think as long as we love each other, we can make it work."

He nodded. "I wouldn't have believed that before I met you," he murmured. "All that romantic crap about true love always seemed like a joke to me. But I guess the joke was on me in the end," he murmured, kissing her. "Guess it goes to show you how crazy life can be. Something you're so certain about is completely blown away by one helluva dame."

"Guess it was just your animal magnetism," she murmured, grinning.

"I did warn you it was pretty irresistible!" he chuckled. She kissed him again, cuddling into his arms.

"You remember when I told you I was a happy guy?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"Uh huh," she said.

"I wasn't," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "But I am now. And I always will be, as long as you're with me."

"Then I won't ever leave you, puddin'," she purred, kissing him.

He stared at her. "What did you call me?" he asked.

She giggled. "I just think it's a nickname that suits my big, scary gangster," she said. "Puddin'."

He frowned. "You gotta promise never to use that in public, all right?" he muttered. "It would do a lotta damage to my reputation as a gangster, letting my girlfriend call me puddin'…"

"I think it's cute, puddin'," she retorted.

"That's the problem with it, all right," he agreed.

"Nah. It's cute, and you're cute, so it works perfectly," she said, sitting up and kissing his nose. "Puddin'."

"You keep calling me that and you're gonna regret it," he murmured.

"Oooh, I'm really scared, puddin'…" she began, and then shrieked as he began tickling her mercilessly. "Puddin', stop it!" she giggled. "Puddin'! Stop!"

"Stop calling me that and I will!" he chuckled.

"Puddin'!" she cried. "Puddin', puddin', puddin'…"

He suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Did you hear that, toots?" he murmured.

"What?" she asked, puzzled. And then she heard a slight clinking sound from somewhere outside the office, out in the factory.

Jack sat up instantly, reaching for his clothes. "Wait here," he muttered.

"Jack, it's probably just rats…" began Harley.

"I'd better make sure," he interrupted, picking up his gun and checking the ammo. "That it ain't some other kinda rodent."

"I'm coming with you," she said, dressing hastily.

"Harley, please, I'd rather you stay here, outta danger…" he began.

"So if it is Batman, he can drag you off on your own?" she asked. "I appreciate you trying to protect my innocence, Jack, but it's a little late for that. If Batman thinks he can take you in, he's gonna be taking me in too."

Jack smiled at her, kissed her fondly, and then put a finger to his lips as he opened the door. All was still dark and silent in the abandoned factory, but Harley found her attention drawn to every flickering shadow, thinking she could see Batman hiding in all of them.

Suddenly, a shadow landed in front of them on the platform over the vat. Jack fired at it and it dodged out of the way, leaping onto the neighboring platform and disappearing into the darkness again. Jack looked around carefully, his gun raised.

"Stop being a coward hiding in the shadows," he muttered. "Face me like a man."

"I'm not the cowardly one, Napier," said Batman's voice. "Let Dr. Quinzel go."

Jack laughed. "Aw, is that what this is?" he chuckled. "A rescue attempt? Well, aren't you the hero, saving an innocent young girl from my nefarious clutches. What do you think about that, Dr. Quinzel?" he asked, grinning at Harley.

"Classic martyr case with delusions of grandeur, Jack," sighed Harley, shaking her head. "Under the impression that he has to save everyone, that everyone's too helpless to act without him, unable to make their own choices. Sad, really."

"You heard the Doc's diagnosis!" chuckled Jack.

"Dr. Quinzel, you don't understand who this man is, or what he's done…" began Batman.

"He's a gangster," interrupted Harley. "Ran the Valestra mob after murdering his boss. Organized that heist that you so gallantly interfered with, and later shot you. He's killed more people than he can remember, and earned pretty much every label a criminal can have. Anything I'm missing out, Jack?"

"Yeah. I cheated on a math test in fourth grade," he chuckled. "But otherwise that's fairly comprehensive, baby," he said, kissing her tenderly.

"I…I don't understand," said Batman. "You _know_ what he is, and yet…"

"I love him," finished Harley, hugging Jack tightly. "Yeah. I do," she murmured, kissing him.

Batman was silent. "I guess I'm taking you both in," he murmured.

Jack laughed. "Nice joke, Bat-freak!" he chuckled. "But the only way you're taking me or Harley in is over my dead body. And I know you ain't got the guts for that kinda fun."

Batman dropped down from the rafters suddenly, landing on top of Jack and making him drop his gun. "Get offa him!" shrieked Harley, throwing Batman a punch to the face. He fell back under the force of the blow as Jack reached for his gun again, firing at Batman, who disappeared into the shadows again.

Jack kept firing, and one of the bullets hit a canister that began to spew thick, greenish smoke. Harley coughed, losing sight of Jack temporarily in the cloud. "Jack!" she gasped, reaching blindly out for him. She felt him take her hand.

"I got you, sweetheart," he whispered. "I got…"

He was cut off with a punch to the face, as Batman's fist collided with him through the smoke. "Jack!" shrieked Harley, as she peered through the mist to see him and Batman trading blows. Batman fell hard against the railing, sending a huge chunk of it hurtling into the vat of glowing green chemicals beneath them. He steadied his balance, blocking Jack's fist and struggling with him on the platform. Harley hurried to help him, but suddenly froze in horror as Batman shoved Jack violently backward, sending him hurtling through the gap in the railing and into the vat of chemicals below.

Neither Batman nor Harley seemed to have fully processed what had happened, even after Jack's body hit the churning green acid and disappeared from view. "You…you pushed him!" gasped Harley, staring down into the vat.

"No, I didn't mean…" stammered Batman. "I…I got turned around in the smoke…I didn't realize…it…it was an…an accident…he fell…"

"You pushed him!" screamed Harley. "Murderer!" she shrieked, pummeling Batman with her fists.

He seized her arms. "Stay here," he commanded, reaching into his belt for a breathing apparatus that covered the limited parts of his face that were exposed in his mask. "I'm going in after him."

And without another word, he dived from the platform into the vat. Harley watched with bated breath, but nothing disturbed the chemical's surface for several agonizing seconds.

And then Batman emerged, holding a figure in his arms. Harley raced down the stairs to the factory floor, watching Batman climb out of the vat, still cradling the figure, who was hidden by his cape.

"Is he dead?" she demanded.

He shook his head slowly. "No."

Harley let out a gasp of relief. "Let me see him…" she said, but he drew his cape further around the unconscious body.

"No," he repeated, firmly. "No, he's been…affected by the chemicals…"

"Do you think I give a damn what he looks like?" demanded Harley. "He's the man I love! Now let me see him!"

Batman reluctantly drew aside his cape, and Harley gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Jack?" she whispered, reaching out a hand to touch the bone white face and bright, green hair.

"He needs to get to a hospital immediately," muttered Batman. "If the chemicals have affected him this badly on the outside, I hate to see what they've done on the inside."

"It'll be your fault," whispered Harley. "All of it."

He looked at her. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For doing this to the man I love?" she demanded.

"Yes," he said. "And for what I'm about to do."

And with that, he punched her across the face, knocking her unconscious.


	12. Chapter 12

Harley awoke with a groan in the hospital, peering around the sterile room through a black eye. She turned her head and let out a gasp when she saw who lay in the neighboring bed.

"Jack!" she whispered, sitting up and hurrying over to his bedside. He was still unconscious – hooked up to several steadily beeping monitors and machines that helped him breathe. Harley stared with tears in her eyes at his peaceful face, similar to Jack's, and yet so radically changed. He looked like…some kinda clown, thought Harley. But what had happened to him was anything but funny.

She sat down on the bed, running her fingers through his green hair. "I dunno if you can hear me," she whispered. "But I love you. I still love you, no matter how you look, no matter what that horrible Batman has done to you…I love you."

"Harley?" said a familiar voice. Harley turned to see Bruce Wayne standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers. "I'm glad you're awake," he said, smiling at her. She didn't smile back.

"What do you want, Bruce?" she murmured, turning her attention back to Jack's sleeping form.

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," he said, putting the flowers down by her bed. "Pam told me you were in the hospital, and I hurried over the minute I heard…"

He stood next to her, looking down at Jack. "Is this…"

"My boyfriend. Yeah," murmured Harley.

"What happened to him?" asked Bruce.

"Batman pushed him into a vat of chemicals," said Harley. "He's a monster."

"He doesn't look that bad…" began Bruce.

"I meant Batman," she interrupted, glaring at him. "Batman is a monster. Or was that supposed to be a joke? Because I really don't think this situation is very funny."

He said nothing, and Harley looked back down at Jack. "Batman's a monster," she repeated. "Jack's beautiful. He'll always be beautiful to me."

"Harley, I…understand you're very upset," murmured Bruce. "But as hard as it is at a time like this, you need to try to be rational. You don't know what kind of state he's going to be in when he wakes up. He might not even remember you."

"I'll help him remember," she murmured, stroking his green hair back from his face. "What good is being a psychiatrist if I can't even help the man I love recover from this terrible ordeal?"

He said nothing. "You…do realize this man is a wanted criminal?" he asked. "Harvey's identified him as Jack Napier, the gangster the police are after." He looked at her. "Did you know?"

"Of course I knew!" she snapped. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Then you realize…he's going to be taken into custody after he recovers," he murmured. "And so will you."

"You think I'm afraid of that?" she demanded.

"If you…pretend you didn't know who he was during their questions, they'll probably let you off," he murmured. "Say he lied to you or you didn't recognize him or something. They won't hear the truth from me."

"I'm not afraid of the truth, Bruce," she replied. "I'm not afraid of anything they can do to me."

Bruce was silent. "Pam and Harvey are waiting outside…" he began.

"I don't want to see them," she interrupted. "I don't want to see you either, Bruce. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

He nodded. "I…I will. I just wanted to…help."

"I appreciate the thought, Bruce," she murmured. "But if you came here hoping that Jack's accident would change things between us, you're wrong."

She turned to look at him. "I'll never stop loving him," she whispered.

Jack's eyes opened suddenly. Harley smiled in relief. "Hey, baby, you're awake," she murmured. "I was so worried…"

Jack smiled. "Well, hello, beautiful," he said, but his eyes were fixed on Bruce. "Come to apologize, have you?"

"Apologize?" repeated Bruce. "For what?"

"For pushing me into the acid, of course," replied Jack.

"Oh, sweetie, no, that's not Batman," murmured Harley, soothingly. "That's Bruce Wayne…"

"Really? My eyes must be deceiving me!" he giggled. "Hardly surprising, I suppose – I have just suffered a terrible accident, after all!"

He began laughing hysterically. "I'll…uh…leave you two alone," said Bruce, heading for the door. Harley nodded, continuing to stroke Jack's hair gently back from his face and trying to quell her fear at his erratic behavior.

"So…got any drugs for me, sweetcheeks?" he asked, turning to Harley. "Because I could sure go for some!"

"Drugs?" she repeated.

"Yeah. You're the nurse, right?" he asked.

She stared at him. "You…don't know who I am, do you?" she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"You ain't the nurse?" he said.

"I'm…I'm Harley, Jack," she murmured, taking his hand.

"Jack?" he repeated. "Who's Jack?"

"You're Jack, sweetie," she murmured. "Jack Napier, the gangster. Remember?"

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Not really. Don't really remember a lotta things, except a guy dressed up as a bat. I thought it was that guy who just left, but I might have been mistaken. Not so certain of anything right now!" he chuckled. "So who are you?"

"Harley," she repeated. "Your…girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" he said, looking her up and down. "How did I swing that?" he whistled. "Must be a charmer with the ladies, huh?"

"Yeah, you…were to me," she agreed. "You…you don't remember how we met?"

He shook his head. "Is it a good story? Got a nice punchline? Heroes? Villains? Gratuitous violence? Comic relief?"

"Erm…kinda," said Harley. "You…you don't remember me at all?"

He shook his head again. "Why doncha gimme the abridged version? Y'know, pretend we're on a speed date!" he chuckled.

"Uh…ok. I'm a psychiatrist…you got shot in the leg during a heist and climbed into my window. I…I took care of you, and…fell in love with you. Just like I think…you did with me."

"Wow, kinda a crazy story!" he chuckled. "Guess that's how you know it's true! And look – here's the gunshot wound!" he said, throwing the blanket off his leg and pointing to it. "So that seems pretty conclusive. Geez, am I pale or what?" he laughed, noticing his skin and holding up his hands to study them. "Either one of those chemicals I fell into was bleach, or I'm some kinda vampire!" he chuckled. "Ok, I got a girlfriend anyway. Tell me some other stuff about myself. Where was I born?"

"Uh…I…I dunno," she stammered. "Here in Gotham, I think."

"We never got that far with the introductions, huh?" he chuckled. "Never mind – I guess that ain't important. I'm a gangster called Jack Napier and I got a girlfriend. What kinda crimes have I committed?"

"Uh…lots," stammered Harley. "I'm not too sure of the specifics…"

"We are, Mr. Napier," said a voice. Harley turned to see Police Commissioner Gordon standing in the doorway. "Murder one, grand larceny, burglary, breaking and entering, arson, kidnapping, and a list about as long as my arm. Now that you're conscious, I'm sure you'll be able to answer some questions."

"Uh oh, this is gonna be awkward!" chuckled Jack, grinning at him. "I'm in trouble for stuff I don't even remember doing! What a joke!"

"Yeah, yeah, you're quite the joker," retorted Gordon. "Now stop faking this amnesia thing, Jack – nobody is buying it from a con artist like you."

"I…I don't think he's faking," stammered Harley.

Gordon turned to look at her. "Nobody cares what you think, Dr. Quinzel," he muttered. "You're to accompany Detective Bullock to the station – he has some questions for you. I'll stay here with Mr. Napier."

Harley nodded slowly. "Jack, sweetie, I'll be back to see you soon," she murmured soothingly, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Try to get better, huh? Y'know, when I studied cases of amnesia in med school, they usually recovered their memories eventually. I'm sure the same thing will happen to you."

"Yeah, I kinda hope so, sweets," he agreed. "Not sure I'd wanna forget a doll like you."

She smiled, kissing him tenderly, and then followed Bullock out the door. While Jack's memory loss did scare her, she was sure he would remember everything in time. At least, she hoped he would.


	13. Chapter 13

Harley answered the questions the police asked her truthfully, and ended up being released on bail. The officers had warned her of the possibility of a lengthy prison sentence for hiding a wanted felon, but she hadn't listened and hadn't cared. She returned to her apartment and locked herself in her room without saying a word to Pamela. All her thoughts were focused on Jack, but she wasn't able to get anywhere near him for the next few weeks. The police were with him constantly, interrogating him, trying to break through what they believed was an act of amnesia. But Harley knew the truth. Jack didn't remember anything before hitting those chemicals, and she didn't know if he ever would.

At last, she received a phone call from Commissioner Gordon. "We haven't got anywhere with Napier," he said. "We've tried every trick in the book, and every tactic to try to slip him up, but he's not falling for it. I was wondering if you would consider…helping us get through to him."

"How?" asked Harley.

"You're a psychiatrist," he said. "You're also a woman he…was very close to. Maybe you can succeed where we've failed. Would you talk to him? In one of our interview rooms, in a controlled environment?"

"Yes," said Harley, quietly. "Yes, I will."

"If your efforts prove successful, maybe we can cut you some kinda deal in return," continued Gordon. "Decrease your jail time or something…"

"I'm not doing this for me – I'm doing this for him," she interrupted. "I don't care what happens to me. I just want him back."

The next day, Harley was escorted to an interview room in the police station, a blank, sterile room with only a table and two chairs inside. On one of these sat Jack Napier.

"We'll be just outside," muttered Gordon. "We'll be monitoring you, so don't try anything funny."

And then he shut the door. Harley sat down slowly across from Jack, who just smiled at her with his slightly unnatural smile.

"Jack? Do you know who I am?" she murmured.

He laughed. "If there's one question I'm sick of hearing, it's that!" he chuckled. "I'll tell you, just like I've told every cop in here, I don't even know who I am, so it's not very likely I'd remember anyone else, is it?"

"I'm Harley," she said. "Your girlfriend. Remember?"

He snapped his fingers. "Girlfriend, right!" he said, nodding. "You here for my conjugal visit?" he chuckled. "About time, I must say. After suffering the brow-beatings and sometimes actual beatings of these pigs for weeks on end, I sure could use a reward."

"I'm not sure they'll let…I'll talk to them about it," she said, nodding. "But right now I'm just here to talk to you. To try to help you remember…us."

He sighed. "I can't even remember one person, and now you're expecting me to remember two? Honestly, sometimes I think I'm the only sane person left in the world!" he giggled. "Everyone talking all the time, with their memories and their accusations and their questions, and not seeing how stupid and pointless and futile it all is, interrogating a man who can't remember anything! I would be really angry with them if the situation wasn't so funny. Like one big joke."

"I…I don't think our love was a joke," murmured Harley. "It's very important to me, Jack. It's the one thing that keeps me going, the hope that you'll remember that. You…you can forget everything else, but not that. That's all that matters."

"Think the cops might disagree with you!" he chuckled. "They wanna know about this guy I murdered, and that guy I murdered, and they might as well be speaking a foreign language for all I know! Do you think they can prosecute a guy who can't remember if he's done the stuff he's accused of?"

"I…I don't know…I can ask Harvey," said Harley.

"Who's Harvey?" he asked.

"Harvey Dent – he's a lawyer who's dating my roommate," murmured Harley. "He's running for DA. You probably don't remember meeting him…"

"No, but he sounds like a useful guy to know in a tight spot!" chuckled Jack. "Think he'd consider representing me?"

"I'm…uh…not sure," she stammered. "I…I don't think they want the case to go to trial until…you've regained your memory."

"And if that doesn't happen?" he asked.

"I…don't know," she murmured. "I don't wanna consider that possibility just yet. I don't want to give up hope that…Jack's gone."

He shrugged. "I've just kinda accepted it, since my whole past is a blank. Can't really miss something you don't remember, huh?" he chuckled. "Whoever I am now, I gotta start all over. New name, new look, new everything."

"New girlfriend?" she asked.

He shrugged again. "Look, you seem like a nice kid," he said. "But you're in love with a guy who's dead. Sure, he looks a little like me, but I might as well be a totally different person now. Could you still wanna be with a guy who just physically resembles your boyfriend, but don't have anything else in common with him? I know they tell me I was a criminal, but it'd be a real, unforgivable crime to keep a gal hanging on and on like that, waiting for something that was never gonna happen, like me regaining my memory. And that's a crime I really don't wanna commit."

Tears came to Harley's eyes. "You're saying…you want me to let you go? That you don't wanna see me again?"

"Like I said, I'm sure you're a nice kid," he said, gently. "And God knows you're attractive. But I couldn't do that to you – keep you with me when I know you wanna be with someone else. Someone else who ain't coming back."

"You don't know…" she began.

"I couldn't keep you hanging around on the off-chance," he interrupted. "Yeah, say I do remember stuff in a couple years. Great, maybe we can pick up where we left off. Maybe. But say I don't. You'll have wasted your life hoping for something that ain't ever gonna come true. I can't think of any sadder fate for a beautiful girl like you. You deserve to be happy, smiling all the time. You got a really pretty smile," he murmured, reaching out a hand to trace her lips.

Harley's tears trailed down her face, and he began brushing them away. "Now, see, this is wrong," he murmured. "Pretty girl like you in tears. I don't wanna see that. And I'd be seeing that a lot if you stayed with me. You'd be mourning for this Jack guy every time you looked at me. Couldn't put you or me through that, could I? That'd be crazy."

"I love you," she whispered, seizing his hands. "I know it's crazy, but…but I can't give you up. Please…please come back to me, Jack. Please…puddin'," she whispered, kissing him tenderly.

He stared at her. "What did you call me?" he whispered.

"Puddin'," she murmured. "It was just a pet name I liked for you…"

"You gotta promise never to use that in public," he whispered. "It would do a lotta damage to my reputation as a gangster, letting my girlfriend call me…puddin'. I…I remember that, Harley," he whispered, his green eyes filled with a strange light. "I remember that."

He looked up at her. "I…remember that," he repeated. "I remember…you," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands. "Harley. My Harley," he whispered, kissing her tenderly.

Harley sobbed in relief, returning the kiss. "You got your makeup on again," he whispered, wiping it off with her tears. "Why? You're so beautiful without it."

"You're beautiful too, Jack," she whispered, touching his face. "And I'm going to get you out of here," she whispered in his ear. "I promise."

She stood up suddenly, knocking on the door. "Commissioner Gordon, I don't think Jack will be inclined to answer either your or my questions until he has his lawyer present," she murmured. "Why don't you contact Harvey Dent?"


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm doing this as a favor to Harley," said Harvey Dent firmly, as he faced Jack Napier in the interrogation room with Harley next to him. "As my girlfriend's friend, so things aren't awkward in the apartment. I'm not doing it for you, Mr. Napier. Personally, I don't really care what happens to a piece of scum like you."

"Thanks, Harvey – glad to know you're gonna do your best!" chuckled Jack. "Good to have you on my side!"

"I just wanted to get that out of the way," said Dent, nodding. "Now I need you to be perfectly honest with me, Mr. Napier. Tell me what you remember."

"Nothing," replied Jack, shaking his head. "Other than I was fighting with some guy in a bat costume, and he pushed me into this vat of chemicals. I woke up in the hospital with this little doll next to me," he said, gesturing at Harley. "She's my girlfriend – I remember that too. I remember…little things about our relationship. Images, pet names," he said, taking her hand. "But nothing outside of that."

"You don't remember how you got shot in the leg?" asked Dent.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Harley says it was some kinda botched heist, and I'll take her word for it."

"It was a botched heist," agreed Dent. "It was botched by Batman."

He leaned back. "Here's the angle I'm gonna try to go for, Mr. Napier. You're a victim of vigilante justice in Gotham. This Batman was responsible for you getting shot, just as he was responsible for pushing you into that vat of chemicals and erasing your memory, so you can't atone for your crimes. He's a roadblock to justice, because otherwise you could confess and be put in prison. But if this memory loss is permanent, you could be diagnosed with a form of mental illness, meaning you won't be sent to prison – you'll be sent to an asylum. An insanity plea means you can't take responsibility for your crimes, thanks to Batman. He does more harm than good, it's all his fault, we switch the blame onto him, and you're bundled discreetly off to Arkham. They probably won't let Harley treat you, considering your personal relationship, but at least she'll be able to check up on you now and then. And this city has a new monster to hate: Batman."

"He _is_ a monster," murmured Harley. "I swear I won't rest until Batman suffers for what he did to you, Jack."

"Hey, if I can get the public lynch mob up in arms and after him, he'll suffer enough," replied Dent. "And not to toot my own horn, but I'm a pretty good lawyer. Rallying the rabble is kinda what I do best. I can begin my time as DA with a catchphrase: Ban the Bat!"

"If you win the election," agreed Harley.

"Well, the polls are looking pretty good," said Dent, nodding. "I think it's more of a when than an if situation."

"I can see why you and Bruce Wayne are best friends," said Harley. "Both of you are always so sure of getting your own way."

"Oh, you're Bruce Wayne's friend?" said Jack, grinning. "Won't that be awkward if you're out to crucify Batman?"

"Why?" asked Dent, puzzled.

"Because Bruce Wayne is Batman, of course!" giggled Jack.

"No, sweetie, remember, that was you being confused," said Harley, soothingly. "Bruce was at the hospital when Jack woke up – he associates him with Batman since Bruce was the first man he saw after the accident, and Batman was the last man he saw before the accident."

Dent sighed. "Yeah, I told Bruce not to go to the hospital," he murmured. "But that's the difference between the two of us. I know when to stop fighting my battles. Bruce doesn't know when he's lost," he said, glaring pointedly at Harley.

He stood up. "Well, I have a lotta work to do. I'll see you later, Harley. Mr. Napier," he said, nodding at them and leaving.

"I'd better go too," murmured Harley, taking his hand. "They won't like us being alone in here…"

"They can see we're not up to anything naughty," he murmured, touching her cheek. "Just let me look at you, kid."

She smiled, kissing his hand. "How did I get to be so lucky?" he whispered, stroking her hair back.

"You probably don't remember, but you've asked me that before," she murmured.

"I'm gonna keep asking until I get an answer!" he said, grinning.

"I love you, Jack," she whispered.

He frowned. "I don't know who that is, Harley," he murmured. "If…if you love me now, you love a guy who doesn't know who he is, and who doesn't have a name."

"I know who you are," she said. "You're Jack Napier. And I'm gonna be with you every day helping you remember him."

He shook his head. "I don't feel like Jack Napier," he murmured. "I feel like…someone different. What happened to me in that vat, it was like…like an epiphany, I guess. It did something to my mind, something irreversible. Something that made the world a whole lot more…fun."

He cupped her chin. "I was in love with you before, and I thought your smile was like the sun," he murmured. "But now I can actually see the sun inside it, beaming out from it. It's unreal, but it is real. That's what my world looks like now. Unreal, but real."

He stroked her hair back gently. "I don't think…I can understand your world again," he whispered. "I can't see it anymore, the world the way it was. But I want to help you…see mine. And understand mine. If you'll let me. If you'll trust me, and stay with me, and love me…I can make our world the most beautiful place on earth. Full of smiles and laughter and fun. I can make the whole world like that."

She beamed at him. "Yes, Jack," she whispered.

"Not Jack," he reminded her.

"Puddin'?" she said.

"I guess that'll do for now," he sighed. "See if Harvey can come up with a better moniker for the trial, before some dumb journalist gets a chance to."

Harley thought. "Mr. X," she said. "That's what they call anonymous guys. But you're not quite anonymous. So we'll call you…Mr. J?"

He grinned. "I like it. Nice and snappy. You should be a journalist, kid," he said, kissing her.

The door opened. "Visiting time's over, Dr. Quinzel," said Commissioner Gordon, sternly.

Harley nodded. "I'll see you soon, Mr. J," she said, kissing him. "I love you."

"They've decided to postpone your trial until after Napier's," said Gordon, leading her down the hall. "If we can't get a conviction for him, we don't have much chance of getting one for you."

"And wouldn't that just eat you up inside?" said Harley, smiling. "Harvey Dent's the best in the business, as I'm sure you know. I don't think the prosecution stands a chance."

"I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" asked Gordon.

"Jack…Mr. J, he thinks it's hilarious that he's being put on trial for crimes he can't remember," said Harley. "He says if he really was a big time gangster, nobody's gonna wanna testify against him, so the prosecution better start consulting psychics, since they're gonna be the only reliable witnesses. He says the whole thing's a circus anyway."

"He probably thinks he's a really funny guy," muttered Gordon. "Quite the joker, isn't he?"

"Joker," repeated Harley, thoughtfully. "Yeah. Yeah, he is."


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm sorry Harvey's gonna be late, Bruce," said Pamela, as she and Bruce Wayne sat at a restaurant together a few weeks later. "He's very busy with his case."

"His case to try to turn that scum Napier into a victim, while turning Batman into a villain?" muttered Bruce, spearing his steak.

"I don't like it either, Bruce, but you know sometimes a lawyer has to act against his conscience," replied Pamela. "It's his job, and he has to do the best job he can for whoever's paying him."

"It's a job that's out to malign a man who's brought nothing but good to this city," muttered Bruce. "I'm not sure how Harvey can sleep at night."

"Not very well these days," said Pamela, forcing a smile. "He's really stressed out."

"I guess it's good to know his conscience is bothering him," said Bruce.

"Yeah," agreed Pamela, sipping her wine. "It's a real shame, Bruce…it's not how I imagined Harvey would be after he won DA. I thought he could make a real difference for good in this city. But I really think he's doing the opposite with this crusade against Batman."

She shook her head. "But he doesn't have a choice," she said. "I wanted him to help Harley out, after all. So I can't blame him for doing that to the best of his abilities."

"The whole situation's so…wrong, Pam," hissed Bruce. "Harley and that…that freak."

"He was a jerk even when he could remember who he was," agreed Pamela. "I told her a thousand times she should have picked you. But she doesn't listen to anyone."

"You can read about Jack Napier's crimes in the newspaper archives, y'know," continued Bruce. "He's done some really bad things. Repeatedly, without showing any kinda remorse or repentance. How can Harley trust a man like that? Especially now that he apparently doesn't remember who he is. I still think it's an act."

"Me too," agreed Pamela. "But Harley's buying it."

She sipped more wine. "I mean, I really love her, Bruce," she murmured. "As a sister. And it angers me and scares me the way she's been acting. Like she's crazy or something."

"She thinks she's in love with him," muttered Bruce. "Same difference."

Pamela looked at him. "You don't think there's any chance of you…being able to charm her back to sanity?"

He shook his head. "Believe me, I've tried. Everything I've done has only made her attachment to that monster worse. I dread to think what could happen if I interfered anymore."

"I didn't figure you were the kinda guy who gives up, Bruce," said Pamela "Even if the odds seem hopelessly against you."

"I'm not," he retorted. "Not usually. But there comes a point when you realize…there's nothing you can do to change certain things. I couldn't change…my parents' murder, for example, and I wished I could change that more than anything else." He shook his head again. "There are things you can change, and things you can't," he said. "We have to focus on the things we can, and accept the things we can't."

"Well, personally I think the heart is something that _can _be changed," retorted Pamela. "I've had enough boyfriends to know that love doesn't have to be forever. In fact, I think it rarely is. Mine and Harvey's excepted, of course," she said. "But the only way I could know when I found the one was to have a lotta terrible relationships first. If Jack's not Harley's first, he's certainly the first I've ever heard of. She's probably just infected by the mad infatuation of a first love. No reason why that can't wear off. Especially when her first love is a piece of criminal scum, and his rival is a handsome, charming billionaire."

"I just don't know what else I can do, Pam," said Bruce. "I've tried everything. And if Harvey gets Napier off, there's gonna be no barrier to him and Harley continuing their relationship. It would be different if he were locked up in prison – I might have a chance if their relationship remains sporadic and long-distance, but if he gets off on an insanity plea, he's gonna be in Arkham with her. Unless something drastic happens between them, I don't see much hope for me."

Pamela thought. "Harley doesn't appear to phased by his change in appearance or anything," she murmured. "But what if he…did a very bad thing?"

"He's a gangster, Pam," retorted Bruce. "I don't think that would be out of character."

"A bad thing to someone close to him, someone who was trying to help him," murmured Pamela. "Something crazy and random that would make no sense, something that would open Harley's eyes to his true character."

"And why would Napier do that?" asked Bruce.

"With a little help from us," murmured Pamela.

Bruce stared at her. "You want to set Napier up?" he murmured. "That's kinda illegal, Pam…"

"Right. Because you've really cared about legal before," she said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures, Bruce. Don't you believe that? And you can't believe it's right for Napier to get off on an insanity charge while Batman is vilified. Can you?"

Bruce opened his mouth to respond when Dent appeared. "Sorry I'm late," he said, taking a seat next to Pamela and kissing her. "Lots to do for this case…"

"It's fine, Harvey," interrupted Pamela. "Bruce and I have just been chatting about the case, actually. How's it going?"

"It's getting really interesting," said Dent. "Y'know I was originally using this Batman angle as a bit of theatrical nonsense, but the more you look into what the guy does, it does seem a bit scary that no one's questioned his behavior before. He seems pretty psychotic."

"In what way, Harvey?" asked Bruce, coldly.

"Well, c'mon, Bruce," said Dent, shrugging. "This is a guy who dresses up in a bat costume every night and beats people up. He's clearly got a few screws loose."

"Maybe he just wants to make a difference for the better," said Pamela.

"There are a lot more effective ways to do that," said Dent. "Run for DA, for example."

"You think you're making a difference for the better?" asked Bruce, lightly. "By launching a hate campaign against Batman?"

"Like I said, Bruce, I'm conflicted as to whether he's actually doing more harm than good," said Dent. "I mean, what gives him the right to take the law into his own hands? For all I know, we might start seeing copycats of this guy – other people who think they're above the law, and try to dispense vigilante justice for everyone. Frankly, it shows a huge lack of respect for the legal system, which is exactly what criminals do. Why doesn't he put on a uniform if he really wants to stop crime?"

"Maybe because he sees that the justice system doesn't always dispense justice," murmured Bruce. "That sometimes it's all theatrical nonsense."

"And some lunatic in a Halloween costume isn't theatrical nonsense?" demanded Dent. "Maybe our justice system should be based on a costume contest, Bruce. Whoever has the wackiest outfit gets to decide who's guilty."

"Harvey, you know Napier is guilty," snapped Bruce. "So do I. What you're trying to do is pervert the justice system to get a convicted felon off…"

"He's not Jack Napier anymore," interrupted Dent. "I believe that. He's become…someone else."

He sipped his wine. "Harley thinks we should refer to him as the Joker."

"Well, he's certainly making a joke of everyone involved in this case," agreed Bruce, downing his glass angrily.

Dent looked from him to Pamela. "Well…I'm certainly glad to have the support of my best friend and my girlfriend," he muttered. "God knows that's what I need when I'm driving myself nuts over this case…"

"You're trying to drive everyone nuts over this case," interrupted Pamela. "Bruce is right, Harvey. I respect what you're trying to do for Harley, but the decent thing to do would be to throw this case and let them put Napier away…"

"He's the Joker, Pam," snapped Dent. "And he's not a sane man. He doesn't belong in prison."

"Where does he belong?" she demanded. "In a cushy cell in Arkham Asylum, with his girlfriend?"

"Yes," retorted Dent, firmly. "And Batman belongs in there too. I wonder if he'll have the balls to show up in court and defend himself. Probably not. He prefers hiding in the shadows to having to take responsibility for his actions."

Bruce stood up. "Excuse me, I have another appointment," he muttered. "Good to see you again, Harvey. Pam," he said, nodding at her.

"I'll call you, Bruce," called Pamela after him. "To discuss what we were talking about earlier."

"What were you talking about earlier?" asked Dent.

"Just some society gossip," replied Pamela. "Nothing for you to worry about, Harvey."

He grunted, examining the menu. "I might…go home alone tonight, if that's ok," said Pamela, slowly.

He looked up. "You don't want me staying over?" he asked.

"I've got some work to do for tomorrow," she said. "And I have a bit of a headache. I wouldn't be any fun, Harvey."

He stared at her. "This wouldn't have anything to do with my case, would it?" he murmured.

"You're so paranoid, Harvey!" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "As if this stupid case could change my feelings for you," she said, kissing him. "I'm just tired tonight."

"Well, we wouldn't have to do anything," he said. "I just like waking up next to you…"

"Clingy's not attractive, Harvey," interrupted Pamela. "It's just one night – stop being so desperate. Anyway, it'll give you a free evening to work on this case."

He nodded. "Yeah…that's good, I guess."

"I'm gonna get going," she said, standing up and kissing him. She tried to pull away, but he pulled her back to him.

"I love you, Pam," he whispered.

"I love you too, Harvey," she murmured, smiling. "My handsome DA."

"After this case is over…we'll celebrate my winning properly," he murmured. "Two weeks in Maui, or the Bahamas maybe. Someplace with beaches and tropical flowers for you, baby."

"That sounds wonderful, Harvey," she said, beaming at him. She kissed him again. "Goodnight, baby."

"Night," he whispered, watching her walk away.


	16. Chapter 16

"Sir, what are you doing?" asked Alfred, as Bruce Wayne sat in the Batcave, studying newspaper articles featuring Jack Napier on his computer screen.

"Trying to find an ally," muttered Bruce.

"An ally for what?" asked Alfred. "Batman?"

"No," retorted Bruce. "An ally to bring down Napier."

Alfred was silent. "Surely that's a job for the courts, Master Bruce…" he began.

"I've been talking with Harvey's girlfriend," interrupted Bruce. "And she's right. The court's not doing its job. Harvey is making Napier's prosecution a laughing stock, and he's damaging Batman in the process. I can't let it continue, Alfred."

"And so what do you intend to do, sir?" asked Alfred, quietly.

Bruce sighed, looking up. "Pam thinks we should plant some kinda evidence on Napier," he said. "Evidence that implies he intends to harm Harley, or Harvey, or something crazy. Maybe some sorta letter that Harley will accidentally stumble across. I think she's been watching too many detective dramas," he sighed, flicking through the newspaper articles. "And she doesn't have any real experience with crime the way I do. Planting evidence is too risky. And if Napier denies it, Harley will believe him, even if the courts don't. And what's the point of sending Napier down if I can't save Harley in the process?"

He turned back to the screen. "No, what we need to do is get someone to testify against Napier," he murmured. "A former gang member or something, someone who resents him and isn't afraid to speak out against him. That way he can testify in court, and Harley will hear the graphic details of Napier's crimes from a guy who was there. Surely she can't still feel anything for a man who would do the things he's done. She's not crazy."

Alfred was silent again. "Are you doing this for justice, sir, or yourself?" he asked, gently.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Bruce, turning to face him.

"Well, you and Miss Isley are both personally involved in this case," murmured Alfred. "You more than her, actually, since not only is it an attack on Batman, but it also involves your rival in a lady's affections. Are you doing this because you're interested in seeing Mr. Napier behind bars, or because you're hoping to win Harley for yourself?"

"Can't justice and my personal interests coincide?" asked Bruce.

"They can, sir," agreed Alfred. "But with a personal bias like that, how can you be sure what you're doing is justice, rather than selfishness?"

"You don't think Napier deserves to go to jail for his crimes?" asked Bruce. "Would you like to read about them, Alfred? I've got them all here," he said, gesturing to the computer.

"I have no doubt the man is guilty, sir," retorted Alfred. "I'm not sure this case is to establish his guilt – more his mental competency."

"You're buying his act?" asked Bruce, angrily. "You actually think he can't remember who he is?"

"I don't know, sir," said Alfred. "You've analyzed the chemicals in that vat. You tell me. If something in there could bleach his skin so horribly, I assume it could also have affected his mind."

"Maybe," agreed Bruce. "But I just can't stand the thought of this guy pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, the lawyers and the judge and the jury…"

"And Harley?" supplied Alfred. "What if she doesn't want to be saved, sir? Not everyone does. How often have you stopped crimes, sent the criminals to prison, rehabilitation facilities, therapy? And how often have they returned to their old ways? A man can fight as hard as he likes, but he can't change people who don't want to change themselves."

"I can't believe that, Alfred," muttered Bruce. "Or I don't know what I'm fighting for."

"You're fighting for justice, sir," murmured Alfred. "Justice for your parents, who were taken from you at an early age. You're fighting to see that no other innocent children lose their parents to crime in this city. I understand that, and I sympathize with that. But having your parents shot in front of your eyes is completely different to Dr. Quinzel voluntarily choosing to take up with a convicted felon. It is her choice, Master Bruce."

"And Batman was my choice," murmured Bruce. "I have to fight for him too, Alfred. And since I can't very well show up in court, I have to find other ways of proving my innocence."

He studied the article. "There's a Buzz Bronski who was a regular member of Napier's gang, and Valestra's gang before Napier took it over," he murmured. "I captured him in the bank heist, and he kept screaming after Napier, cursing him and calling him names. I wonder if he'd consider testifying in order to take some time off his sentence? I guess I could always ask him," he said, standing up. "Can you telephone Miss Isley and tell her I'll pick her up in twenty minutes? And then we'll head to prison to talk to Mr. Bronski."

"You're sure you want Miss Isley involved any further in this ghastly business?" asked Alfred.

"It was her idea," replied Bruce. "I think she deserves to see the fruits of her labor. And if I'm there to monitor her, it'll prevent her from doing anything rash or risky."

"Yes, Lord knows you never do anything like that, sir," replied Alfred, dryly.

Bruce smiled at him and went to go change into more casual clothing.

…

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bronski," said Bruce Wayne, standing up to shake Buzz's hand in the interview room.

"Er…yeah, likewise," he said. He noticed Pamela and his face lit up in a sleazy smile. "Well, hello, gorgeous," he said, winking at her. "To what do I owe the pleasure of two such distinguished visitors?"

"We're here on business, Mr. Bronski," retorted Pamela, coldly. "We're trying to find people willing to testify against Jack Napier in court. You've worked with Mr. Napier, haven't you?"

Buzz spat on the floor. "Yeah. We were in Sal Valestra's gang together for about five years, until Jack decided to murder the boss and take control himself. After that, he became Mr. High-and-Mighty, fancying himself the brains of the operation. But I shoulda inherited the Valestra gang – I'm ten times the man Jack is. Sal hand-picked me to be his successor from the beginning, and then Jack wades in here and takes it all. He was always a jumped up clown," he muttered, spitting again. "Coward too. His operation goes wrong, so he runs off leaving his gang to take the fall for him. I swore I'd kill him for that, and I will one day. Sooner than I think if he gets put in here," he said, grinning.

"We don't think he is going to be put in prison, Mr. Bronski," said Pamela. "My boyfriend is his lawyer, and he's doing a damn good job defending him, saying he's not mentally sound. We think he's gonna be ruled insane and get put into some asylum."

Buzz snorted. "Jack ain't crazy. He's just a bastard."

"So you'd be willing to testify to his sanity?" asked Bruce. "And to his crimes? The prosecution could probably strike you a deal to reduce your prison sentence in return for your cooperation."

"Yeah, sounds good," said Buzz, nodding.

"I'm just gonna warn you now, Mr. Bronski, Mr. Napier's suffered a little…accident," said Bruce. "He looks a lot different than how he used to. He…fell into some chemicals…"

"You mean he's all burned and disgusting?" asked Buzz, excitedly. He laughed. "There might be a God after all!"

"Not…exactly," said Bruce, slowly. "You'll just have to see."

"Too bad," said Buzz. "I've dreamed of getting revenge on him by throwing acid into his smug, smiling face. Imagining him screaming in agony helps me sleep at night," he said, grinning unpleasantly.

"Just your testimony will do, Mr. Bronski," said Bruce, firmly. "We'll leave Mr. Napier to the law."

"Yeah, the law's always just, isn't it, Mr. Wayne?" said Buzz, smiling. "Nobody in Gotham believes that, or we wouldn't have this Batman lunatic running riot. If the law were just, they'd take him in rather than accepting his help."

"I think you're just angry that he caught you, Mr. Bronski," said Bruce, smiling.

"Yeah, and I don't think it's right for a criminal to hand another criminal over to the police," retorted Buzz. "But Batman does. If he's gonna break the law like the rest of us, the least he can do is do it without hiding behind a mask."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," retorted Bruce. "But he's actually not on trial. Mr. Napier is, and I'd like to thank you in advance for helping put him behind bars. I'll see you in court," he said, standing up to go.

He and Pamela left the interview room. "Hang on, Bruce, I've just left my coat in there," said Pamela, heading back into the room. Bruce chatted to Commissioner Gordon, while Pamela slipped back inside, grabbing her coat from the chair without saying anything to Buzz. She turned to go, and then paused. "Would you really like to throw acid in Mr. Napier's face?" she murmured.

"Yeah," he said. "You would too if you knew him better."

"Oh, I already know him as well as I'd like to," murmured Pamela. "And I share your feelings for him."

She turned back around to face Buzz. "I work with chemicals, Mr. Bronski," she murmured. "What if I told you I could give you an acid that wouldn't be detected by the security in the courthouse? An acid that would resemble water to the eye of any casual observer, but which would be just as effective as any other acid when thrown into a man's face. Would you finish your testimony against Mr. Napier with…a bang, shall we say?"

He chuckled. "You're a bloodthirsty dame, and I like that," he growled. "I would love nothing better than to help you out, toots. You give me the means, and I promise you the trial's gonna end just the way you want."

Pamela grinned. "Then I'll see you in court, Mr. Bronski," she murmured, heading out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

"The question, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is not whether my client was once Jack Napier, a merciless gangster who committed a series of heinous crimes," said Harvey Dent, addressing the courtroom. "But whether the horrific accident he suffered at the hands of Batman even allows him to take responsibility for those crimes. I have no doubt that he was of perfectly sound mind when he committed them, but thanks to Batman, his mind is no longer perfectly sound. Indeed, he cannot even recall his own name, let alone any crimes he might have committed. Prison is no place for a man who can't remember who he is, who suffers from violent and erratic behavior and delusions. My client, the Joker, as he will now be referred to, is not Jack Napier. He is a man who has suffered enough as the victim of a bullying vigilante determined to take the law into his own hands, and prosecute criminals with his own brand of justice. And look at the result," he said, gesturing at Jack. "Is this what we want in Gotham City? A freak running riot, creating more freaks? Is this what we consider justice here, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? As your District Attorney, I certainly want better for Gotham, and for the Joker. I want justice. Not Batman's justice, but the justice of the United States of America, that is not the barbaric eye for an eye, but a merciful, humane, compassionate system designed to protect the weak and vulnerable. A system approved by the people, not just one person. A system that does not bow to the whims of a tyrannical vigilante. A system that is just for every citizen of Gotham City. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," he said, sitting back down.

Harley applauded loudly, and Pamela and Bruce, who sat next to her, glared at her. "Quiet in the court," snapped the judge. "Thank you, Mr. Dent. But I understand the prosecution has one more witness before we dismiss this case to the deliberation of the jury."

"We have, your honor, thank you," said the opposing lawyer, standing up. "One of Mr. Napier's former associates has volunteered to come forward and testify against him. If the court could call Mr. Buzz Bronski to the stand, please."

There was a murmur as Buzz was led into the court. He passed Pamela and winked at her before taking a seat in the witness box.

"Mr. Bronski, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" asked the bailiff.

"I do," said Buzz, nodding.

"Mr. Bronski, you worked with Jack Napier on a number of criminal enterprises, is that correct?" asked the prosecuting lawyer.

"That's right," said Buzz, nodding again.

"And can you identify Mr. Napier in this courtroom today?" asked the lawyer.

Buzz's eyes fixed on Jack, who stared back at him with a faintly amused expression, but no hint of recognition in his eyes. "Well, he looks like some kinda goddamn clown, but that's him," said Buzz, pointing at Jack. "Is that makeup or something, Jack? Because you look ridiculous."

"The witness is not to directly address the accused," snapped the judge.

Jack chuckled softly to himself, smiling back at Buzz, who seemed slightly unnerved by Jack's smile. "Mr. Bronski, could you detail for the court some of Mr. Napier's crimes for us?" asked the lawyer.

"Objection, your honor," said Dent, standing up. "We've heard all about Mr. Napier's crimes before. It has nothing to do with the crux of this case, which is the sanity of my client!"

"Jack's not crazy," muttered Buzz. "But he's smart like a fox. I wouldn't put it past him to fake an insanity plea to save himself from the chair."

"That seems in character with the Jack Napier you know, does it?" asked the lawyer, eagerly.

"Yeah, anything cowardly and slimy that gets him outta taking responsibility for his crimes seems like Jack Napier," agreed Buzz.

"Geez, what did I ever do to this guy?" chuckled Jack.

"Mr. Dent, for the last time, silence your client," snapped the judge.

"Don't pretend you don't recognize me, Jack," retorted Buzz. "You know who I am. I was Sal's favorite before you ever came into the picture."

"Really? I guess that would be interesting if I knew who Sal was!" chuckled Jack.

"Our boss. Who you murdered," retorted Buzz. "You remember Sal. And you remember me, Jack, so just drop the act. You stole my girlfriend."

"Did I? Well, I've been told I was a charmer. It's nice some things haven't changed!" chuckled Jack.

"Stop it, Jack!" roared Buzz, standing up. "Stop it! Just be a man and stand up for yourself!"

"Hard to stand up for myself if I don't know who I am!" chuckled Jack. "But if it's a fight you're wanting, Buzzkill, I'm more than happy to give you one," he hissed, his smile taking on a dangerous edge.

"Order in the court!" snapped the judge, banging his gavel. "Mr. Prosecutor, do you have any further questions for Mr. Bronski?"

"No further questions, your honor," retorted the prosecution.

"Would the defense like to cross examine the witness?" asked the judge.

"No further questions, your honor," said Dent. "I merely wish to remind the jury that this man is himself a criminal, and has admitted to having a personal vendetta against my client. I really think that's all that needs to be said."

"The witness is excused," said the judge. The bailiff escorted Buzz from the stand. As Buzz walked past the table where the defense sat, he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial. He flung the contents at Jack's face, but his reflexes were quick. Jack ducked, and the acid hit Harvey Dent in the face instead.

Chaos reigned instantly in the courtroom as Dent howled in pain, clutching the side of his face. "Harvey!" screamed Pamela, shoving past the onlookers to reach him. Jack had seized Buzz around the throat with his handcuffs and began slamming his face into a corner of the table, laughing hysterically at Buzz's screams. Guards rushed to restrain Jack and see to Harvey, who began clawing at his face.

The guards managed to pull Jack and Buzz apart, but a quick glance at Buzz could tell anyone he was already dead. As the guards bent down to examine him, Jack turned to look at Harley, who had been too stunned to react, but who now reacted instantly.

She punched the guards holding Jack in the back of the head, and then seized his hand, racing toward the door. "Harley!" shouted Bruce, who had been trying to get to Dent and comfort Pamela, who was sobbing hysterically. He watched her disappear out the door with Jack, and then turned his attention back to Dent, his heart breaking. "Get him to a hospital, now!" he shouted, rushing forward to help him.

Harley and Jack raced across the parking lot to her car, speeding off into the streets of Gotham. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. "Head east," said Jack, nodding at the sign. "I've got a place we can hide out there."

She nodded, obeying him. "Got a hairpin, toots?" he asked, holding up his handcuffs. She nodded again, reaching up to pull her hair out of its bun and handing him the pin. He began working at the lock.

"Poor Harvey," she murmured. "It's probably horrible of me to say, but…I'm so glad it was him rather than you."

"That _is_ a pretty horrible thing to say," he agreed, nodding. "You're a bad girl, Harley."

She grinned. "Is it also horrible of me to say that I'm kinda glad it happened because it means we're together and free?" she asked, taking his hand as the cuffs dropped off them.

"Yeah," he said. "You're a very bad girl, Harley. Think you probably deserve a few hard spankings," he growled, grinning at her.

Her grin widened as he slid his hand up her thigh. "You're a bit of a frisky boy," she murmured. "Was it the blood or beating a guy's skull in that got you in the mood?"

"My pumpkin pie knows me so well!" he chuckled. "And she doesn't mind my bloodthirstiness?"

"Mmm…she probably shares it a little, puddin'," Harley breathed. She shoved his hand away. "But you gotta behave yourself for now if you don't want me getting in a wreck. And you don't, because then they'd catch us and drag you back to prison."

"Yeah, and they've been denying me my conjugal visits. Bastards," muttered Jack.

"Well, not long now, puddin'," said Harley. "Assuming the hideout ain't far?"

He shook his head. "Left up here," he said. "Then ditch the car. I don't want the police or the Bat finding us for a good, long while," he chuckled, replacing his hand on her knee.

Harley didn't even have time to take a good look around the hideout before Jack seized her, slamming her against the door and mauling her, his hands working to undress her. "Mmm…Mr. J, did you really steal that guy's girlfriend?" asked Harley.

"I don't remember," he whispered, kissing her face. "What does it matter?"

"It don't," said Harley, hastily. "Only…"

"Don't be jealous, Harley," he whispered, ripping her top off and pulling down her skirt so that she was dressed only in a short, red slip. "I don't know who Jack Napier is or what he did. But I ain't that guy anymore. The guy I am now, the Joker…" He trailed off, cupping her face in his hands. "The Joker only has his one dame. And that's all he's ever gonna have. My little Harley Quinz…"

He paused, grinning. "My little Harley Quinn," he whispered, kissing her. "Oh, my beautiful Harley Quinn. Who else but a clown could love a clown like me?" he murmured, grinning.

"Jack…" she began, kissing him passionately, but cried out as he spanked her hard.

"Not that name, Harley," he said, smiling at her. "Not that name ever again, or it'll be worse than a spanking. I don't know who Jack is. I'm the Joker now, remember?"

She nodded vigorously. "Good girl, Harley Quinn," he whispered, playing with her hair. "Good girl. Do we think pigtails for my little girl?" he said, lifting her hair up. "Yeah, pigtails, I think."

"Jack…" Harley began, but she gasped as his hand tightened around her throat.

"No, Harley," he murmured. "No, no, no. Bad girl. Don't be a bad girl for Daddy, or he'll punish you."

"Sorry, puddin'," she whispered.

"Mmm, I even prefer puddin' to Jack," he whispered. "And that's saying something."

"You're choking me…" she whispered.

"Don't you like it?" he murmured. "Don't you like a little pain with your pleasure?"

"I…dunno…Mr…J…oh, Mr. J!" she gasped, as his hand slid up under her skirt. "Yes! Oh…"

He released her throat, kissing her deeply. "We leave the past behind us now, Harley," he whispered. "Both of us. We start again. Not Jack Napier and Harleen Quinzel, but the Joker and Harley Quinn. Our love will be violent and intense and passionate, and every bit of pain we go through will be worth it. Because pain makes you stronger. It makes us stronger, Harley. Together."

He gripped her chin. "You take the pain, you stay with me, and nothing will ever break us. Not the Bat, not the cops, not anything fate can throw in our way. That'll be the joke, y'see. The battering, the bruising, from the world and from each other, and it only makes us stronger. Because life's one big joke – I can see that now, Harley. Can you see it? Do you get the joke, Harley?"

She gazed into his beautiful green eyes, his body pressed against hers. Then she nodded slowly. "Yeah, Mr. J," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist and lifting herself up to kiss him. She drew away slowly, biting his bottom lip. "I do."

There was nothing else to say. Their bodies merged with cries of pain and pleasure, indistinguishable from each other. There was no difference for them anymore.


	18. Chapter 18

"He's awake now," said the doctor, emerging from Harvey Dent's room. "You can go in."

Bruce and Pamela rose and headed into the room. It had been several weeks since the incident, and Pamela looked as if she hadn't stopped crying a day of any of them. Bruce had done his best to be her shoulder to cry on, but she seemed completely inconsolable.

The light in the room was dim – Bruce suspected that Dent had asked for it to be. There was a single lamp illuminating one half of his face, which looked the same as it always did, as his eyes roved over a paper in front of him.

"Harvey!" gasped Pamela, rushing forward to hug him.

"Hello, Pam," he muttered, not looking up from the paper, or lifting an arm to embrace her.

"How are you feeling, Harvey?" asked Bruce.

"As well as can be expected after having acid thrown in my face," growled Dent, looking up to glare at Bruce. Bruce could see there was something wrong with his other eye, but it was too dark to make out any details. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

"Probably pretty…bad," said Bruce, slowly.

"Lemme see you, baby," whispered Pamela, trying to turn his face to the light, but he pushed her away forcefully.

"Just leave me alone, Pam!" he snapped, looking back down at the paper.

"What are you reading?" asked Bruce as Pamela stared at him, shocked by his violence.

"Police report," he muttered. "About my attack. Something's really bothering me about it."

He looked up at them again. "Where did Bronski get the acid? He was searched before he was allowed in the courthouse, and there was no trace of anything on him then. So someone must have slipped it to him inside. And this particular acid isn't widely available to the public, and rightly so. It's…dangerous in the wrong hands," he muttered, raising a hand to touch the side of his face hidden in the shadows. "So where did he get it? Who gave it to him?"

Neither of them spoke – Bruce because he didn't know, and Pamela because she couldn't tell him. "It would have to be from someone who works with chemicals," continued Dent. "Of course I don't know everyone in the gallery and their occupations, but I'm willing to be a large proportion of them don't work with chemicals. And it would have to be someone who really didn't like Napier. Who really didn't like Napier enough to wanna permanently damage him. Maybe to make him even more unattractive than he already is. I'm not sure of the motivation."

He looked up at them. "But I'm pretty sure someone in this room is," he murmured, his eyes fixed on Pamela. She had tears in her eyes, and her breathing sped up as he glared at her.

"What do you think, Pam?" he murmured. "Where did Bronski get the acid?"

"Harvey, you…you have to believe me, I never intended…if I thought there was the slightest chance this could happen, I would never…I didn't mean…" she sobbed.

"It doesn't matter what you meant!" he roared, suddenly furious. "The only thing that matters is what happened! This happened, Pam!" he shouted, grabbing the lamp to reveal his face clearly.

One half of it was horribly scarred and disfigured - a bulging, yellow eye glared out from one bare socket. Pamela cried out in horror, stumbling back, but then instantly raced forward to try to embrace him again.

"Harvey, please, it was an accident…"

"That you caused!" he roared, shoving her away again. "Because you couldn't stand to see me defend Napier! So you broke the law, you went behind my back, and this is the result!" he roared, pointing at his face. "I would say it's a good lesson for you, Pam, but I dunno why I have to suffer to teach it to you!"

"Harvey, calm down, please," she whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks. She reached out a hand to touch his face. "I…I still love you…"

"And you think I still love you?!" he demanded, furiously. "The woman who did this to me?! You think I can forgive you for this, when I have to look at it in the mirror every day?!"

"But Harvey, I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?!" he roared. "Is you being sorry gonna fix my face?! Is it?!"

"No, I…I…can't…I didn't…" began Pamela, tears trickling down her face. "Harvey, please…"

"Get her outta here, Bruce," muttered Dent, turning away from them.

"Harvey…" began Pamela again.

"I said get her out!" he shouted, whirling around and raising his hand to hit Pamela. Bruce intercepted his fist, shielding Pamela with his body.

"Pam, c'mon," Bruce muttered, pulling her out of the room. She stared after Dent, her whole body racked with sobs. She broke away from Bruce the instant they were out of the room, racing down the hall and sobbing loudly.

"Pam!" called Bruce, rushing after her. "Pam, come back!"

By the time he arrived at the parking lot, Pamela had already driven off. Bruce swore loudly, reaching for his phone. "Alfred, bring the car around to the front of the hospital now!" he shouted.

"An emergency, sir?" asked Alfred, as Bruce climbed into the backseat a few moments later.

He nodded. "Get me to Pam's apartment. She can't be left alone. There's no telling what she's gonna do in the state she's in. I just hope it's nothing too drastic before I can get there."

His anxiety increased as he banged on the door to Pamela's apartment, without receiving an answer. "Pam!" he shouted. "Pam, it's Bruce! Open up!"

After about five minutes of knocking without receiving an answer, Bruce decided to break down the door. It didn't take long for a man in his physical condition, and he dashed through the apartment, freezing in horror when he arrived at Pamela's room.

She lay on the floor, clutching an empty vial and a syringe, her eyes shut and her breath stilled. "Oh God, Pam, wake up!" he hissed, seizing her in his arms and breathing into her mouth. "C'mon, Pam, please!"

He reached for his phone. "Alfred, car, now!"

Time was a blur until Bruce once again found himself sitting in a waiting room in the hospital, alone this time. And his solitude gave him time to think. He couldn't help but feel responsible for this – he should have prevented Pamela from giving Bronski the acid, he should have prevented her from trying to kill herself, he should have got there in time. He should have been able to save Harley from Napier. What was the good of being a hero if he didn't even have the power to save the people closest to his heart?

"Mr. Wayne?" said a doctor, breaking in on his thoughts.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She'll live," said the doctor. "But the toxin she injected herself with…it's…some kinda experimental chemical. Nobody's seen it before. It's plant-based."

"Pam…Pam specializes in plant-based chemicals," said Bruce. "That's her job."

"Well, she's…made a mistake with this one," said the doctor. "At least, we think it's a mistake. It hasn't killed her, it's just…changed her."

"Changed her?" repeated Bruce.

The doctor nodded. "Her cells have bonded with the plant DNA. It's caused her skin to turn green. As for other effects…we'll just have to wait and see."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Have you told Harvey?"

"Mr. Dent knows," said the doctor, nodding.

"Can I see him?" asked Bruce.

The doctor nodded again, leading Bruce back to Dent's room. He still sat in the shadows, his fingers playing idly with a coin he had found, occasionally flicking it into the air.

"Is Pam stable?" he muttered.

Bruce nodded. "She'll live," he replied, and then explained what the doctor had told him. Both of Dent's faces remained impassive – he just flicked the coin again.

"Good," he muttered at last. "She deserves it, after what she did to me. At least we're both freaks now."

"You're not freaks, Harvey…" began Bruce.

"A green-skinned plant-woman and a guy with half a face ain't freaks?" demanded Dent. "Don't be stupid, Bruce. First Napier with his clown accident and now us…"

He trailed off. "No. No, not Napier first," he murmured. "Do y'know who was first, Bruce? Do you know who started all of this? Do you know whose fault this all really is?"

Bruce shook his head. "Batman," muttered Dent. "It's Batman's fault. He was the first freak. He made all the others. Napier, me, Pammie. All gone forever, thanks to Batman. All replaced by freaks, thanks to Batman. At least he won't be the only freak in Gotham anymore. Maybe that was his plan all along - maybe he was lonely, and wanted other freaks to play with."

Dent turned to look at him. "Do you think he's happy now?" he whispered.

Bruce shook his head again. "No, Harvey," he murmured. "No, I don't think he is."


	19. Chapter 19

Batman sat alone in the Batcave, watching the reports from the TV news coming in to the Batcomputer. There were two crimes currently in progress, and he was trying to judge which one was the more urgently in need of Batman's attention. The police seemed to have pinned down Harvey Dent…Two-Face, Batman reminded himself. He was Two-Face now. His friend Harvey Dent had been gone for some time now, replaced by the criminal Two-Face, who made his every decision with the flip of a coin. Aside from half his face still resembling Dent's, Batman couldn't see Harvey in him anymore.

He turned his attention to the second crime, one the police were having a bit more trouble handling. And this was because it was being perpetrated by Pamela Isley, who had assumed the name Poison Ivy since her transformation into a plant hybrid. A plant hybrid who could communicate with other plants – that was what made her so difficult to deal with. She had several police cars entangled in a mesh of vines as she commanded more vines to entrap the officers firing at her, choking the life out of them slowly. That seemed to be the priority for Batman at the moment.

He had just made his decision when a new report suddenly came in. The news chopper zoomed in on Arkham Asylum, which seemed to have fireworks coming from it. As the camera zoomed closer, Batman could see that the fireworks were being shot off from the roof.

And then a rocket suddenly hit the news chopper. For a moment, the footage was chaotic as the helicopter crashed into the roof. The camera managed to survive the impact, and Batman could see a familiar woman in a skintight red and black harlequin outfit bend down to smile and wave at the camera. She picked it up, pointing it at a clown figure in a purple suit, who beamed and waved at the camera, and held up a syringe full of green liquid. He injected it into the group of doctors tied and bound in front of him, and soon Batman could see their faces contorted in horrible death grins as they laughed themselves to death. The woman put down the camera just in front of one of the horribly smiling faces, skipping over to kiss the man in the purple suit.

"You sure know how to put a smile on everyone's face, puddin'," she purred.

"It's what I live for, Harley girl!" he chuckled, patting her head.

The camera stayed on the death grin, and Batman instantly changed his decision. The clowns were more dangerous than Ivy, especially if they seemed to have Arkham Asylum under their control. Batman was needed there more than anywhere else.

The clowns…he had almost forgotten that he had ever loved Harleen Quinzel, or Harley Quinn as she now called herself. Maybe he still secretly did love her for what she was, but he could never love what she had become, a punching bag and stooge of the Joker. Batman didn't think of the Joker as Jack Napier anymore – he sometimes forgot that was who he had been. They were like two completely different men. Jack Napier had been a dangerous man, but he had committed crimes for a reason – to consolidate power, to fight the other gangs, and for money. The Joker committed crimes without reason, without any motivation that Batman could see. He was a homicidal lunatic, killing indiscriminately, and seeing it all as some kinda sick joke. Yes, Harleen Quinzel as he knew her could never have loved someone like that, he assured himself. But in the end, he hadn't been able to save her from Harley Quinn.

He stared at the screens. He hadn't been able to save any of them. So he fought them, night after night, in an endless series of escapes, crimes, and battles, costing even more innocent lives. He had become Batman to stop crime in Gotham, but he had only increased it by creating these supercriminals. Dent had been right – it was all his fault.

Batman tried not to feel guilty for what they had become, but even his hardened heart occasionally despaired when he remembered the lives that had been destroyed, that he had been unable to save. Not only the people who had died because of crime in Gotham, but the people who had been lost. The people who could never be saved. The people he had created.

He stared at the screens for a moment more, and then turned away. There was work to do tonight. There was work to do every night, and there always would be, thanks to him. He was a hero who had created villains to fight, villains who were almost a match for him. Every night he risked his life in putting them away. And he had no choice but to go out there and fight them one more time. They were his responsibility, as was every death they caused. His fault.

Some people wondered why Batman never smiled. If they knew the whole truth, they would probably understand.

**The End**


End file.
